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Ben and Sancho. 

\ “ Only don’t be hard on Sanch ; he’s been real good to me, and we 're 
' fond of one another.” — Page 22. 







































Under the Lilacs 

i 


BY 

' LOUISA M. ALCOTT, 

AUTHOR OF “ LITTLE WOMEN,” “ AN OLD-FASHIONED GIRL,” “ LITTLE MEN,” 
“eight cousins,” “rose in bloom,” “jack and JILL,” 

“ HOSPITAL SKETCHES,” “wORK,” “SILVER PITCHERS,” 

‘aunt jo’s scrap-bag.” 





BOSTON: 

LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY, 

1901. 












V Zn 




Copyright, 1878, 

By Louisa M. Alcott 


icS'yK 


o 


• • 
« • 






University Press: 

John Wilson & Son, Cambridge. 


^L^)\ 












TO 


EMMA, IDA, GAEL, AND LINA, 

0bcr ti^c 5ea, 

THIS LITTLE BOOJt I» AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED 
BY THEIR NEW NRIEND AND SISTER, 

L. M. A 




i 


A 





















CONTENTS 


CHAPTER lAOR 

1. A Mysterious Dog. ] 

II. Where they found his Master ... 12 

III. Ben.20 

IV. His Story.29 

V. Ben gets a Place.37 

VI. A Circulating Library.46 

VII. New Friends trot in.53 

VIII. Miss Celia’s Man.. . 63 

IX. A Happy Tea.73 

X. A Heavy Trouble.86 

XL Sunday. . . •.94 

XII. Good Times.117 

XIII. Somebody runs away.132 

XIV. Somebody gets lost.147 

XV. Ben’s Ride.167 

XVI. Detective Thornton.18^1 

XVII. Betty’s Bravery.200 

XVIII Bows AND Arrows.217 

XIX. Speaking Pieces.229 

XX. Ben’s Birthday.213 

XXL Cupid’s Last Appearance.255 

XXII. A Boy’s Bargain.268 

XXIIL Somebody Comes.280 

XXIV. The Great Gate is opened.292 

■ 



























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UNDER THE LILACS. 


CHAPTER L 

A MYSTERIOUS DOG, 

T he elm-tree avenue was aU overgrown, the great 
gate was never unlocked, and the old house had 
been shut up for several years. Yet voices were heard 
about the place, the lilacs nodded over the high wall 
as if they said, “We could tell fine secrets if we chose,” 
and the mullein outside the gate made haste to reach 
the keyhole, that it might peep in and see what was 
going on. 

If it had suddenly grown up like a magic beanstalk, 
and looked in on a certain June day, it would have seen 
a droll but pleasant sight, for somebody evidently was 
going to have a party. 

From the gate to the porch went a wide walk, paved 
with smooth slabs of dark stone, and bordered with the 
taU bushes which met overhead, making a green roof. 
All sorts of neglected flowers and wild weeds grew 
between their stems, covering the walls of this summer 
parlor with the prettiest tapestry. A board, propped on 
two blocks of wood, stood in the middle of the walk, 
covered with a little plaid shawl much the worse for 
wear, and on it a miniature tea-service was set forth 
1 


A 




2 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


with great elegance. To be sure, the tea-pot had lost 
its spout, the cream-jug its handle, the sugar-bowl its 
cover, and the cups and plates were all more or less 
cracked or nicked; but polite persons would not take 
notice of these trifling deficiencies, and none but polite 
persons were invited to this party. 

On either side of the porch was a seat, and here a 
somewhat remarkable sight would have been revealed to 
any inquisitive eye peering through the aforesaid key¬ 
hole. Upon the left-hand seat lay seven dolls, upon the 
right-hand seat lay six ; and so varied were the expres¬ 
sions of their countenances, owing to fractures, dirt, 
age, and other afflictions, that one would very naturally 
have thought this a doll’s hospital, and these the patients 
waiting for their tea. This, however, would have been 
a sad mistake ; for if the wdnd had lifted the coverings 
laid over them, it would have disclosed the fact that all 
were in full dress, and merely reposing before the feast 
should begin. 

There was another interesting feature of the scene 
which would have puzzled any but those well acquainted 
with the manners and customs of dolls. A fourteenth 
rag baby, with a china head, hung by her neck from the 
rusty knocker in the middle of the door. A sprig of 
white and one of purple lilac nodded over her, a dress of 
3^ellow calico, richly trimmed with red-flannel scallops, 
shrouded her slender form, a garland of small flowers 
crowned her glossy curls, and a pair of blue boots 
touched toes in the friendliest, if not the most graceful, 
manner. An emotion of grief, as well as of surprise, 
might well have thrilled any 3'outhful breast at such a 
spectacle ; for why, oh! whj^, was this resplendent dolly 












Bab and Betty. 

“ Presently voices were heard approaching, and through the arch which 
led to a side path came two little girls.” — Page 3. 



















d MYSTERIOUS DOG, 


3 


hing up there to » -itared at by thirteen of her kindred ? 
Was she a criminal, the sight of whose execution threw 
them fiat upon their backs in speechless horror? Or 
W8 she an idol, to be adored in that humble posture ? 
Neiti^er, my friends. She was blonde Belinda, set, or 
rather hung, aloft, in the place of honor, for this wag 
her seventh birthday, and a superb ball was about tc 
celebrate the great event. 

All we.'e evidently awaiting a summons to the festive 
board ' ut such was the perfect breeding of these 
dolls, a single eye out of the whole twenty- 

seven (Dutch Hans had lost one of the black beads from 
his worsted countenance) turned for a moment toward 
the table, or so much as winked, astl ey lay in decorous 
rows, gazing with mute admiration af Belinda. She, 
unable to repress the joy and pride which swcx^^^d her 
sawdust bosom till the seams gaped, gave an occasional 
bounce as the wind waved her yellow skirts, or made 
the blue boots dance a sort of jig upon the door. Hang 
ing was evidently not a painful operation, for she smiled 
contentedly, and looked as if the red ribbon around her 
neck was not uncomfortably tight; therefore, if slow 
suffocation suited her, who else had any right to com¬ 
plain? So a pleasing silence reigned, not even broken 
by a snore from Dinah, the top of whose tui'ban alone 
was visible above the coverlet, or a cry from baby Jane, 
though her bare feet stuck out in a way that would have 
produced shrieks from a less well-trained infant. 

Presently voices were heard approaching, and through 
the arch which led to a side-path came two little girls, 
one carrying a small pitcher, the other proudly bearing 
a basket covered with a napkin. They looked like 



4 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


twins, but were not, for Bab was a year older tbfa 
Betty, though only an inch taller, feoth had on bro;.rn 
calico frocks, much the worse for a week’s wear; out 
clean pink pinafores, in honor of the occasion, mad ' up 
for that, as well as the gray stockings and thick b yots 
Both had round, rosy faces rather sunburnt, pug noses 
somewhat freckled, merry blue eyes, and braided tails 
of hair hanging down their backs like those of the dear 
little Kenwigses. 

“Don’t they look sweet?” cried Bab, gazing with 
maternal pride upon the left-hand row of dolls, who 
might appropriately have sung in chorus, “We ar% 
seven.” 

“ Very nice; but my Belinda beats them all. I do 
think she is the splendidest child that ever was I ” And 
Betty set down the basket to run and embrace the sus¬ 
pended darling, just then kicking up her heels with 
joyful abandon. 

“ The cake can be cooling while we fix the children. 
It does smell perfectly delicious! ” said Bab, lifting the 
napkin to hang over the basket, fondly regarding the 
little round loaf that lay inside. 

“ Leave some smell for me I ” commanded Betty, rush¬ 
ing back to get her fair share of the spicy fragrance. 

The pug noses sniffed it up luxuriously, and the bright 
eyes feasted upon the loveliness of the cake, so brown 
and shiny, with a tipsy-looking B in pie-crust staggering 
down one side, instead of sitting properly a-top. 

“ Ma let me put it on the very last minute, and it 
baked so hard I couldn’t pick it off. We can give Be¬ 
linda that piece, so it’s just as well,” obsen^ed Betty, 
taking the lead, as her child was queen of the reveL 





A MYSTERIOUS DOG. 


5 


“ Let ^8 set them ronnd, so they can see too,” pro¬ 
posed Bab, going, with a hop, skip, and jump, to 
collect her young family. 

Betty agreed, and for several minutes both were ab 
sorbed in seating their dolls about the table, for some of 
the dear things were so limp they wouldn’t sit up ; and 
others so stiff they wouldn’t sit down, and all sorts of 
seats had to be contrived to suit the peculiarities of 
their spines. This arduous task accomplished, the 
fond mammas stepped back to enjoy the spectacle, 
which, I assure you, was an impressive one. Belinda 
sat with great dignity at the head, her hands genteelly 
holding a pink cambric pocket-handkerchief in her lap. 
Josephus, her cousin, took the foot, elegantly arrayed 
in a new suit of purple and green gingham, with his 
speaking countenance much obscured by a straw hat 
several sizes too large for him ; while on either side sat 
guests of every size, complexion, and costume, pro¬ 
ducing a very gay and varied effect, as aU were dressed 
with a noble disregard of fashion. 

“ They will like to see us get tea. Did you forget 
the buns ? ” inquired Betty, anxiously. 

“ No; got them in my pocket.” And Bab produced 
from that chaotic cupboard two rather stale and crumbly 
ones, saved from lunch for the f^te. These were cut 
up and arranged in plates, forming a graceful circle 
around the cake, stiQ in its basket. 

“ Ma couldn’t spare much milk, so we must mix 
water with it. Strong tea isn’t good for children, she 
says.” And Bab contentedly surveyed the gill of skhn- 
milk which was to satisfy the thirst of the company. 

“ While the tea draws and the cake cools, let’s sit 




6 


UNDER THE LILACS, 


down and rest; I’m so tired I ” sighed Betty, dropping 
down on the door-step and stretching out the stout little 
legs which had been on the go aU day; for Saturday 
had its tasks as well as its fun, and much business had 
preceded this unusual pleasure. 

Bab went and sat beside her, looking idlj^ down the 
walk toward the gate, where a fine cobweb shone in the 
afternoon sun. 

“ Ma says she is going over the house in a day or 
two, now it is warm and dry after the storm, and we 
may go with her. You know she wouldn’t take us in 
the fall, ’cause we had whooping-cough, and it was 
damp there. Now we shall see all the nice things; 
won’t it be fun?” observed Bab, after a pause. 

“ Yes, indeed ! Ma says there’s lots of books in one 
room, and 1 can look at ’em while she goes round. 
May be I ’ll have time to read some, and then I can teU 
you,” answered Betty, who dearly loved stories, and 
seldom got any new ones. 

“I’d rather see the old spinning-wheel up garret, and 
the big pictures, and the queer clothes in the blue chest. 
It makes me mad to have them all shut up there, wh^n 
we might have such fun with them. I’d just like to 
bang that old door down ! ” And Bab twisted round 
give it a thump with her boots. “You needn’t laugh ; 
you know you’d like it as much as me,” she added, 
twisting back again, rather ashamed of her impatienc<», 

“ I didn’t laugh.’' 

“You did I Don’t you suppose I know what laugh 
ing is ? ” 

“ I guess I know I didn’t.” 

“ You did laugh I How darst you teU such, a fib ?' 


A AfYSTBBIOl/S DOG, 


7 


“ If you say that again I ’ll take Belinda and go right 
home ; then what will you do ? ” 

“ I ’ll eat up the cake.” 

“ No, 3^ou won’t I It’s mine, Ma said so; and yon 
are only company, so you’d better behave O’* 1 won't 
have any party at all, so now.” 

This awful threat calmed Bab’s anger at once, and 
she hastened to introduce a safer subject. 

“Nevermind; don’t let’s fight before the children. 
Do you know, Ma says she wiU let us play in the coach 
house next time it rains, and keep the key if we want 
to.” 

“Oh, goody I that’s because we told her how we 
found the little window under the woodbine, and didn’t 
trj^ to go in, though we might have just as easy as 
not,” cried Betty, appeased at once, for, after a ten 
years’ acquaintance, she had grown used to Bab’s pep¬ 
pery temper. 

. “I suppose the coach wdl be aU dust and rats and 
spiders, but I don’t care. You and the doUs can 
be the passengers, and I shall sit up in front and 
drive.” 

“You always do. I shall like riding better than 
being horse aU the time, with that old wooden bit in 
my mouth, and you jerking my arms ofl*,” said poor 
Betty, who was tired of being horse continually. 

“I guess we’d better go and get the water now,” 
suggested Bab, feeling that it was not safe to encourage 
her sister in such complaints. 

“ It is not many people who would dare to leave their 
children all alone with such a lovely cake, and know 
they wouldn’t pick at it,” said Betty proudly, as tJiey 



8 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


trotted away to the spring, each with a little tin pail In 
her hand. 

Alas, for the faith of these too confiding nmninias! 
They were gone about five minutes, and when they 
returned a sight met their astonished eyes which pro¬ 
duced a simultaneous shriek of horror. Flat upon their 
faces lay the fourteen dolls, and the cake, the cherished 
cake, was gone 1 

For r.n instant the little girls could only stand motion¬ 
less, gazing at the dreadful scene. Then Bab cast her 
W'ater~i'ail wildly away, and, doubling up her fist, cried 
out fit 1 cely, — 

“It was that Sally I She said she’d pay me foi 
slapping her when she pinched little Mary Ann, and 
now she has. I ’ll give it to her I You run that way. 
I ’ll run this. Quick I quick I ” 

Away they went, Bab racing straight on, and be¬ 
wildered Betty turning obediently round to trot in the 
opposite direction as fast as she could, with the water 
splashing all over her as she ran, for she had forgotten 
to put down her pail. Round the house they went, and 
met with a crash at the back door, but no sign of the 
thief appeared. 

“ In the lane I ” shouted Bab. 

“ Down by the spring! ” panted Betty; and off the} 
went again, one to scramble up a pile of stones and look 
over the waU into the avenue, the other to scamper to 
the spot they had just left. StiU, nothing appeared but 
the dandelions’ innocent faces looking up at Bab, and s 
brown bird scared from his bath in the spring by Betty’s 
hasty approach. 

Back they rushed, but only to meet a new scare, 




A MYSTERIOUS DOG. 


which made them both cry “Owl” and fly into the 
porch for refuge. 

A strange dog was sitting calmly among the ruins of 
the feast, licking his lips after basely eating up the last 
poor bits of bun, when he had bolted the cake, basket, 
and all, apparently. 

“Oh, the horrid thing!” cried Bab, longing to gi^e 
battle, but afraid, for the dog was a peculiar as well as 
a dishonest animal. 

“He looks like our China poodle, doesn’t he?” 
whispered Betty, making herself as small as possible 
behind her more valiant sister. 

He certainly did ; for, though much larger and dirtier 
than the well-washed China dog, this live one had the 
same tassel at the end of his tail, ruffles of hair round 
his ankles, and a body shaven behind and curly before. 
His eyes, however, were yellow, instead of glassy black, 
like the other’s; his red nose worked as he cocked it 
up, as if smelling for more cakes, in the most impudent 
manner; and never, during the three years he had stood 
on the parlor mantel-piece, had the China poodle done 
the surprising feats with which this mysterious dog 
now proceeded to astonish the httle girls almost out of 
their wits. 

First he sat up, put his fore-paws together, and begged 
prettily; then he suddenly flung his hind legs into the 
air, and walked about with great ease. Hardly had they 
recovered from this shock, when the hind legs came 
down, the fore legs went up, and he paraded in a sol¬ 
dierly manner to and fro, like a sentinel on guard. But 
the crowning performance was when he took his tail in 
his mouth and waltzed down the walk, over the prostrate 




10 


UNDER THE LILAC . 


dolls, to the gate and back again, barely escaping a 
general upset of the ravaged table. 

Bab and Betty eould only hold each other tight and 
squeal with delight, for never had the}^ seen any thing so 
funny; but, when the gymnastics ended, and the dizzy 
dog came and stood on the step before them barking 
loudly, with that pink nose of his sniffing at their 
feet, and his queer eyes fixed sharply upon them, then 
amusement turned to fear again, and they dared not stir. 

“ Whish, go away 1 ” commanded Bab. 

“ Scat! ” meekly quavered Betty. 

To their great relief, the poodle gave several more 
inquiring barks, and then vanished as suddenly as he 
appeared. With one impulse, the children ran to see 
what became of him, and, after a brisk scamper through 
the orchard, saw the tasselled tail disappear under the 
fence at the far end. 

“Where do you s’pose he came from?” asked Betty 
stopping to rest on a‘big stone. 

“ I’d like to know where he’s gone, too, and give 
him a good beating, old thief! ” scolded Bab, remember¬ 
ing their wrongs. 

“Oh, dear, yes! I hope the cake burnt him dread¬ 
fully if he did eat it,” groaned Betty, sadly remembering 
the dozen good raisins she chopped up, and the “lots 
of ’lasses ” mother put into the dear lost loaf. 

“ The party ’s all spoilt, so we may as well go home ; ” 
and Bab mournfully led the way back. 

Betty puckered up her face to cry, but burst out 
laughing in spite o^ her woe. “ It was so funny to see 
him spin round and walk on his head! 1 wish he’d do 

it all over again ; don’t you?” 



A MYSTERIOUS DOQ. 


11 


“ Yes: but I hate him just the same. I wonder what 
Ma will say when — why I why! ” and Bab stopped short 
in the arch, with her eyes as round and almost as large 
as the blue saucers on the tea-tray. 

“ What is it? oh, what is it?” cried Betty, all ready 
to nm away if any new terror appeared. 

“Look! there! it’s come back!” said Bab in an 
awe-stricken whisper, pointing to the table. 

Betty did look, and her eyes opened even wider,— 
as well they might, — for there, just where they first 
put it, was the lost cake, unhurt, unchanged, except 
that the big B had coasted a little fUrther down the 
gingerbread hill. 








CHAPTER II. 


WHERE THEY FOUND HIS MASTER. 

N either spoke for a minute, astonishment being 
too great for words; then, as by one impulse, 
both stole up and touched the cake with a timid finger, 
quite prepared to see it fiy away in some mysteri¬ 
ous and startling manner. It remained sitting tran¬ 
quilly in the basket, however, and the children drew a 
long breath of relief, for, though they did not beheve 
in fairies, the late performances did seem rather like 
witchcraft. 

“ The dog didn’t eat it! ” 

“ SaUy didn’t take it! ” 

“ How do you know? ” 

“ She never would have put it back.” 

“ Who did?” 

“ Can’t tell, but I forgive ’em.” 

“ What shall we do now? ” asked Betty, feeling as if 
it would be very difficult to settle down to a quiet tea 
party after such unusual excitement. 

“ Eat that cake up just as fast as ever we can,” and 
Bab divided the contested dehcacy with one chop of the 
big knife, bound to make sure of her own share at aU 
events. 

It did not take long, for they washed it down with 


WHERE THEY FOUND HIS MASTER. 13 


sips of milk, and ate as fast as possible, glancing round 
aE the while to see if the queer dog was coming again. 

“ There ! now I'd like to see any one take my cake 
away,” said Bab, defiantly crunching her half of the 
pie-crust B. 

“Or mine either,” coughed Betty, choking over a 
raisin that wouldn’t go down in a hurry. 

“We might as well clear up, and play there had been 
an earthquake,” suggested Bab, feeling that some such 
convulsion of Nature was needed to explain satisfactorily 
the demoralized condition of her family. 

“ That will be splendid. My poor Linda was knocked 
right over on her nose. Darlin’ child, come to your 
mother and be fixed,” purred Betty, lifting the fallen 
idol from a grove of chickweed, and tenderly brushing 
the dirt from Belinda’s heroically smiling face. 

“She’ll have croup to-night as sure as the world. 
We’d better make up some squills out of this sugar and 
water,” said Bab, who dearly loved to dose the dollies 
all round. 

“P’r’aps she will, but you needn’t begin to sneeze 
yet awhile. I can sneeze for my own children, thank 
you, ma’am,” returned Betty, shaiqjly, for her usually 
amiable spirit had been ruflaed by the late occurrences. 

“I didn’t sneeze I I’ve got enough to do to talk 
jind cry and cough for my own poor dears, without both¬ 
ering about yours,” cried Bab, even more ruflled than 
her sister. 

“Then who did? I heard a real live sneeze just 
as plain as any thing,” and Betty looked up to the 
green roof above her, as if the sound came from that 
direction. 


14 


UNDER THE LILAC8, 


A yellow-bird sat swinging and chirping on the tall 
lilac-bush, but no other living thing was in sight. 

“Birds don’t sneeze, do they?” asked Betty, ejdng 
httle Goldy suspiciously. 

“ You goose! of course they don’t.” 

“ Well, I should just like to know who is laughing 
and sneezing round here. May be it is the dog,” sug¬ 
gested Betty, looking relieved. 

“I never heard of a dog’s laughing, except Mother 
Hubbard’s. This is such a queer one, may be he can, 
though. I wonder where he went to^ ” and Bab took a 
survey down both the side-paths, quite longing to see 
the funny poodle again. 

“ I know where /’wi going to,” said Betty, pHing the 
dolls into her apron with more haste than care. “I’m 
going right straight home to tell Ma aU about it. I 
don’t like such actions, and I’m afraid to stay.” 

“I ain’t; but I guess it is going to rain, so I shall 
have to go any way,” answered Bab, taking advantage 
of the black clouds rolling up the sky, for she scorned 
to own that she was afraid of any thing. 

Clearing the table in a summary manner by catching 
up the four corners of the cloth, Bab put the rattling 
bundle into her apron, flung her children on the top, and 
pronounced herself ready to depart. Betty lingered an 
instant to pick up odds and ends that might be spoilt 
by the rain, and, when she turned from taking the red 
halter oAT the knocker, two lovely pink roses lay on the 
stone steps. 

“Oh, Bab, just see I Here’s the very ones we wanted. 
Wasn’t it nice of the wind to blow ’em down?” she 
called out, picking them up and running after her sister, 


WHERE THEY FOUND HIS MASTER. 15 


who had strolled moodily along, still looking about for 
her sworn foe, Sally Folsom. 

The flowers soothed the feelings of the little girls, 
because they had longed for them, and bravely resisted 
the temptation to climb up the trellis and help them¬ 
selves, since their mother had forbidden such feats, 
owing to a fall Bab got trying to reach a honeysuckle 
from the vine which ran all over the porch. 

Home they went and poured out their tale, to Mrs. 
Moss’s great amusement; for she saw in it only some 
pla}Tnate’s prank, and was not much impressed by the 
mysterious sneeze and laugh. 

“ We’ll have a grand rummage Monday, and find out 
what is going on over there,” was all she said. 

But M:s. Moss could not keep her promise, for on 
Monday it still rained, and the little ghis paddled oflT to 
school like a pair of young ducks, enjoying every puddle 
they came to, since India-rubber boots made wading a 
delicious possibility. They took their dinner, and at 
noon regaled a crowd of comrades with an account of 
the mysterious dog, who appeared to be haunting the 
neighborhood, as several of the other children had seen 
him examining their back yards with interest. ^He had 
begged of them, but to none had he exhi’^ited his ac¬ 
complishments except Bab and Betty; and they were 
therefore much set up, and called him “ our dog” with 
an air. The cake transaction remained a riddle, loi 
Sally Folsom solemnly declared that she was playing 
tag in Mamie Snow’s barn at that identical time. No one 
had been near the old house but the two children, and 
no one could throw any light upon that singular affair. ? 

It produced a great effect, however; for even 



16 


UNDER THE LILACS, 


“ teacher ” was interested, and told such amazing tales 
of a juggler she once saw, that doughnuts were left for¬ 
gotten in dinner-baskets, and wedges of pie remained 
suspended in the air for several minutes at a time, in¬ 
stead of vanishing with miraculous rapidity as usual. 
At afternoon recess, which the girls had first. Bah 
nearly dislocated every joint of her little body trying 
to imitate the poodle’s antics. She had practised on 
her bed with great success, but the wood-shed fioor 
was a dififerent thing, as her knees and elbows soon 
testified. 

“ It looked just as easy as any thing; I don’t see 
how he did it,” she said, coming down with a bump after 
vainl}" attempting to walli on her hands. 

“ My gracious, there he is this very minute! ” cried 
Betty, who sat on a httle wood-pile near the door. 

There was a general rush, and sixteen small girls 
gazed out into the rain as eagerly as if to behold Cin¬ 
derella’s magic coach, instead of one forlorn dog trotting 
by through the mud. 

“ Oh, do call him in and make him dance! ” cried the 
girls, all chirping at once, till it sounded as if a fiock 
of sparrows had taken possession of the shed. 

“ 7 will call him, — he knows me” and Bab scrambled 
up, forgetting how she had chased the poodle and called 
him names two days ago. 

He evidently had not forgotten, however; for, though 
He paused and looked wistfully at them, he would not 
approach, but stood dripping in the rain, with his frills 
much bedraggled, while his tasseUed tail wagged slowly, 
and his pink nose pointed suggestively to the pails and 
baskets, nearly empty now. 



WHERE THEY FOUND HIS MASTER, 17 


“He’s hungry; give him something to eat, and then 
he’ll see that we don’t want to hurt him,” suggested 
Sally, starting a contribution with her last bit of bread 
and butter. 

Bab caught up her new pail, and collected all the 
odds and ends ; then tried to beguile the poor beast in 
to eat and be comforted. But he only came as far as 
the door, and, sitting up, begged with such imploring 
eyes that Bab put down the pail and stepped back, 
saying pitifully, — 

“The poor thing is starved; let him eat all he wants, 
and we won’t touch him.” 

The girls drew back with little clucks of interest and 
compassion; but I regret to say their charity was not 
rewarded as they expected, for, the minute the coast was 
clear, the dog marched boldly up, seized the handle of 
the pail in his mouth, and was off with it, galloping 
down the road at a great pace. Shrieks arose from the 
children, especially Bab and Betty, basely bereaved of 
their new dinner-pail; but no one could follow the thief, 
for the bell rang, and in they went, so much excited 
that the boys rushed tumultuously forth to discover the 
cause. 

By the time school was over the sun was out, and Bab 
and Betty hastened home to tell their wrongs and be 
comforted by mother, who did it most effectually. 

“Never mind dears. I’ll get 3 ’ou another pail, if he 
does n’t bring it back as he did before. As it is too 
wet for 3 ^ou to play out, 3 'ou shall go and see the old 
coach-house as I promised. Keep on 3 "our rubbers and 
come along.” 

This delightful prospect much assuaged their woe, and 




18 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


away they went, skipping gayly down the gravelled path, 
while Mrs. Moss followed, with skirts well tucked up, 
and a great bunch of keys in her hand ; for she lived at 
the Lodge, and had charge of the premises. 

The small door of the coach-house was fastened inside, 
but the large one had a padlock on it; and this being 
quickly unfastened, one half swung open, and the little 
girls ran in, too eager and curious even to cry out 
when they found themselves at last in possession of the 
long-coveted old carnage. A dusty, musty concern 
enough; but it had a high seat, a door, steps that let 
down, and many other charms which rendered it most 
desirable in the ej-es of children. 

Bab made straight lor the box and Betty for the 
door; but both came tumbling down faster than they 
went up, when from the gloom of the interior came 
a shrill bark, and a low voice saving quickly, “ Down, 
Sancho! down! ” 

“Who is there?” demanded Mrs. Moss, in a stem 
tone, backing toward the door with both children cling¬ 
ing to her skii-ts. 

The well-known curly white head was popped out of 
the broken window, and a mild whine seemed to say, 
“ Don’t be alarmed, ladies ; we won’t hurt you.” 

“ Come out this minute, or I shall have to come and 
get you,” called Mrs. Moss, growing very brave all of 
a sudden as she caught sight of a pair of small, dusty 
shoes under the coach. 

“ Yes;’m, T’m coming as fast as I can,” answered a 
meek voice, as what appeared to be a bundle of rags 
leaped out of the dark, followed by the poodle, who 
immediately sat down at the bare feet of his owner with 


WHERE THEY FOUND BIS MASTER. 19 


a watchful air, as if ready to assault any one who might 
approach too near. 

“ Now, then, who are you, and how did you get 
here ? ” asked Mrs. Moss, trying to speak sternly, 
though her motherly eyes were already fuU of pity as 
they rested on the forlorn little figure before her. 




CHAPTER IIL 


BEN. 

“ T5LEASE, ’M, my name is Ben Brown, and 1 ’m 
ti'avellm\” 

“ Where are you going?” 

“ Anywheres to get work.” 

“ What sort of work can you do?” 

“ All kinds. I’m used to horses.” 

“ Bless me! such a little chap as you?” 

“I’m twelve, ma’am, and can ride any thing on four 
legs ; ” and the small boy gave a nod that seemed to say, 
“ Bring on your Cruisers. I’m ready for ’em.” 

“Haven’t you got any folks?” asked Mrs. Moss, 
amused but still anxious, for the sunburnt face was 
very thin, the eyes hollow with hunger or pain, and the 
ragged figure leaned on the wheel as if too weak or 
weary to stand alone. 

“ No, ’m, not of my own; and the people I was left 
with beat me so, I — run away.” The last words seemed 
to bolt out against his will, as if the woman’s sympathy 
iiTesistibly won the child’s confidence. 

“ Then I don’t blame you. But how did you get 
here ? ” 

“ I was so tired I couldn’t go any further, and I 
thought the folks up here at the big house would t,ake 


BEN. 


21 


me in. But the gate was locked, and I was so dis¬ 
couraged, I jest laid down outside and give up.” 

“ Poor little soul, I don’t wonder,” said Mrs. Moss, 
while the children looked deeply interested at mention 
of their gate. 

The boy drew a long breath, and his eyes began to 
twinkle in spite of his forlorn state as he went on, 
while the dog pricked up his ears at mention of his 
name: — 

“While I was restin’ I heard some one come along 
inside, and I peeked, and saw them little girls playin’ 
The vittles looked so nice I couldn’t help wantin’ ’em; 
but I didn’t take nothin’, — it was Sancho, and he took 
the cake for me.” 

Bab and Betty gave a gasp and stared reproachfully 
at the poodle, who half closed his eyes with a meek, 
unconscious look that was very droll. 

“ And you made him put it back? ” cried Bab. 

“ No ; I did it myself. Got over the gate when you 
was racin’ after Sanch, and then clim’ up on the porch 
and hid,” said the boy with a grin. 

“ And you laughed? ” asked Bab. 

“Yes.” 

“And sneezed?” added Betty. 

“ Yes.” 

“ And threw down the roses?” cried both. 

“ Yes ; and you liked ’em, didn’t you? ” 

“Course we did! What made you hide?” said 
Bab. 

“ I wasn’t fit to be seen,” muttered Ben, glancing at 
his tatters as if he’d like to dive out of sight into the 
dark coach again 






22 


JNDER THE LILACS. 


“How came you Jiere^*^ demanded Mrs. Moss, sud¬ 
denly remembering her responsibility. 

“ I heard ’em talk about a little winder and a shed, 
and when they’d gone I found it and come in. The 
glass was broke, and I only pulled the nail out. I 
haven’t done a mite of harm sleepin’ here two nights. 
I was so tuckered out I couldn’t go on nohow, though 
I tried a-Sunday.” 

“ And came back again?” 

“ Yes,’m; it was so lonesome in the rain, and this 
place seemed kinder Kke home, and I could hear ’em 
talkin’ outside, and Sanch he found vittles, and I was 
pretty comfortable.” 

“ WeU, I never! ” ejaculated Mrs. Moss, whisking up 
a corner of her apron to wipe her eyes, for the thought 
of the poor little fellow alone there for two days and 
nights with no bed but musty straw, no food but the 
scraps a dog brought him, was too much for her. “ Do 
you know what I’m going to do with you?” she asked, 
trpng to look calm and cool, with a great tear running 
down her wholesome red cheek, and a smile trying to 
break out at the corners of her lips. 

“ No, ma’am; and I dunno as I care. Only don’t 
be hard on Sanch; he’s been real good to me, and 
we’re fond of one another; ain’t us, old chap?” an¬ 
swered the boy, with his arm around the dog’s neck, 
and an anxious look which he had not worn for him¬ 
self. 

“I’m going to take you right home, and wash and 
feed and put you in a good bed ; and to-morrow, — well, 
we’ll see what’ll happen then,” said Mrs. Moss, not 
quite sure about it herself. 




BEN. 


23 


“You’re very kind, ma’am. I’ll be glad to work 
ft>r you. Ain’t you got a horse I can see to?” asked 
the boy, eagerly. 

“ Nothing but hens and a cat.” 

Bab and Betty burst out laughing when their mother 
said that, and Ben gave a faint giggle, as if he would 
like to join in if he only had the strength to do it. But 
his legs shook under him, and he felt a queer dizziness; 
so he could only hold on to Sancho, and blink at the 
liglit like a young owl. 

“Come right along, child. Run on, girls, and put 
the rest of the broth to warming, and fill the kettle. 
I’ll see to the boy,” commanded Mrs. Moss, waving 
off the childi’en, and going up to feel the pulse of her 
new charge, for it suddenly occurred to her that he 
might be sick and not safe to take home. 

The hand he gave her was very thin, but clean and 
cool, and the black eyes were clear though hollow, for 
the poor lad was half-starved. 

“I’m awful shabby, but I ain’t dirty. I had a 
washin’ in the rain last night, and I’ve jest about 
lived on water lately,” he explained, wondering wh^ 
she looked at him so hard. 

“ Put out your tongue.” 

He did so, but took it in again to say quickly, — 

“ I ain’t sick, — I’m only hungry; for I haven’t had 
A mite but what Sanch brought, for three days; and I 
always go halves, don’t I, Sanch?” 

The poodle gave a shrill bark, and vibrated excitedly 
between the door and his master as if he understood 
all that was going on, and recommended a speedy march 
toward the promised food and shelter. Mrs. Moss took 




24 


UNDER THE LILACS 


the hint, and bade the boy follow her at once and bring 
his “ things” with him. 

“I ain’t got any. Some big fellers took away my 
bundle, else I wouldn’t look so bad. There’s only this. 
I’m sorry Sanch took it, and I’d like to give- it back if 
I knew whose it was,” said Ben, bringing the new din¬ 
ner-pail out from the depths of the coach where he had 
gone to housekeeping. 

“ That’s soon done ; it’s mine, and you’re welcome 
to the bits your queer dog ran off with. Come along, 
I must lock up,” and Mrs. Moss clanked her keys sug¬ 
gestively. 

Ben limped out, leaning on a broken hoe-handle, for he 
was stiff after two days in such damp lodgings, as well 
as worn out with a fortnight’s wandering through sun 
and rain. Sancho was in great spuits, evidently feeling 
that their woes were over and his foraging expeditions 
at an end, for he frisked about his master with yelps 
of pleasure, or made pla^Tul darts at the ankles of his 
benefactress, which caused her to cry, “ Whish!” and 
“ Scat! ” and shake her skiits at him as if he were a 
cat or hen. 

A hot fire was roaring in the stove under the broth- 
skillet and tea-kettle, and Betty was poking in more 
wood, with a great smirch of black on her chubby cheek, 
while Bab was cutting away at the loaf as if bent on 
slicing her own fingers off. Before Ben knew what he 
was about, he found himseif in the old rocking-chair 
devouring bread and butter as only a hungry boy can 
with Sancho close by gnawing a mutton-bone like a 
ravenous wolf in sheep’s clothing. 

While the new-comers were thus happily employed, 



BEN. 


25 


Mrs. Moss beckoned the little girls out of the room, 
and gave them both an errand. 

“ Bab, you run over to Mrs. Barton’s, and ask her 
for any old duds Billy don’t want; and Betty, you go 
to the Cutters, and tell Miss Clarindy I’d like a couple 
of the shirts we made at last sewing circle. Any shoes, 
or a hat, or socks, would come handy, for the poor dear 
hasn’t a whole thread on him.” 

Away went the children full of anxiety to clothe their 
beggar; and so well did they plead his cause with the 
"^good neighbors, that Ben hardly knew himself when he 
emerged from the back bedroom half an hour later, 
clothed in Billy Barton’s faded flannel suit, with an un¬ 
bleached cotton shirt out of the Dorcas basket, and a 
pair of Milly Cutter’s old shoes on his feet. 

Sancho also had been put in better trim, for, after hk 
master had refreshed himself with a warm bath, he gave 
his dog a good scrub while Mrs. Moss set a stitch here 
and there in the new old clothes ; and Sancho reappeared, 
looking more like the china poodle than ever, being as 
white as snow, his curls well brushed up, and his tasselly 
tail waving proudly over his back. 

Feeling eminently respectable and comfortable, the 
wanderers humbly presented themselves, and were 
greeted with smiles of approval from the little girls and 
a hospitable welcome from the mother, who set them 
near the stove to dry, as both were decidedly damp after 
their ablutions. 

“ I declare I shouldn’t have known you! ” exclaimed 
the good woman, surveying the boy with great satisfac¬ 
tion ; for, though still very thin and tired, the lad had 
a tidy look that pleased her, and a lively way of moving 






26 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


about in his clothes, like an eel in a skin rather too big 
for him. The merry black eyes seemed to see every 
thing, the voice had an honest sound, and the sun-burnt 
face looked several years younger since the unnatural 
despondency had gone out of it. 

“ It’s very nice, and me and Sanch are lots obliged, 
ma’am,” murmured Ben, getting red and bashful under 
the three pairs of friendly eyes fixed upon him. 

Bab and Betty were doing up the tea-things with 
unusual despatch, so that they mi^t entertain their 
guest, and just as Ben spoke Bab dropped a cup. 
To her great surprise no smash followed, for, bending 
quickly, the boy caught it as it fell, and presented it to 
her on the back of his hand with a little bow. 

“ Gracious! how could you do it? ” asked Bab, look¬ 
ing as if she thought there was magic about it. 

“ That’s nothing ; look here,” and, taldng two plates, 
Ben sent them spinning up into the air, catching and 
throwing so rapidly that Bab and Betty stood with their 
mouths open, as if to swallow the plates should they 
fall, while Mrs. Moss, with her dish-cloth suspended, 
watched the antics of her crockery with a housewife’s 
anxiety. 

“That does beat all!” was the only exclamation 
she had time to make; for, as if desirous of showing 
his gratitude in the only way he could, Ben took 
several clothes-pins from a basket near by, sent 
several saucers twirling up, caught them on the pins, 
balanced the pins on chin, nose, forehead, and went 
w^alking about with a new and peculiar sort of toad¬ 
stool ornamenting his countenance. 

The children were immensely tickled, and Mrs. 





BEN. 


27 


Moss was so amused she would have lent her best 
soup-tureen if he had expressed a wish for it. But 
Ben was too tired to show all his accomplishments 
At once, and he soon stopped, looking as if he almost 
regretted having betrayed that he possessed any. 

“I guess you’ve been in the juggling business,” 
said Mrs. Moss, with a wise nod, for she saw the same 
look on his face as when he said his name was Ben 
Brown, — the look of one who was not telling the whole 
truth. 

“ Yes, ’m. I used to help Senior Pedro, the Wizard 
of the World, and I leaned some of his tncks,” stam¬ 
mered Ben, trying to seem innocent. 

“Now, look here, boy, you’d better tell me the 
whole story, and tell it true, or I shall have to send 
you up to Judge Morris. I wouldn’t like to do that, 
for he is a harsh sort of a man; so, if you haven’t done 
any thing bad, you needn’t be afraid to speak out, and 
I’ll do what I can for you,” said Mrs. Moss, rather 
sternly, as she went and sat down in her rocking-chair, 
as if about to open the court. 

“ I haven't done any thing bad, and I ain't afraid, 
only I don’t want to go back; and if I tell, may be 
you ’ll let ’em know where I be,” said Ben, much dis¬ 
tressed between his longing to confide in his new friend 
and his fear of his old enemies. 

“ If they abused you, of course I wouldn’t. Tell 
the truth, and I ’ll stand by you. Girls, you go for the 
milk.” 

“ Oh, Ma, do let us stay I We’U never tell, truly, 
truly I ” cried Bab and Betty, full of dismay at being 
sent off when secrets wese about to be divulged. 






28 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


“ I don’t mind ’em,” said Ben handsomely. 

“ Very well, only hold your tongues. Now, boy, 
where did you come from ? ” said Mrs. Moss, as the 
httle girls hastily sat down together on their private 
and particular bench opposite their mother, brimming 
with curiosity and beaming with satisfaction at the 
l^rospect before them 


CHAPTER rv. 


HIS STORY. 

* T RAN away from a circus,” began Ben, but got no 
•A further, for Bab and Betty gave a simultaneous 
bounce of delight, and both cried out at once, — 

“We ’ve been to one I It was splendid ! ” 

“You wouldn’t think so if you knew as much about 
it as I do,” answered Ben, with a sudden frown and 
wriggle, as if he still felt the smart of the blows he had 
received. “We don’t call it splendid ; do we, Sancho? ” 
he added, making a queer noise, which caused the 
poodle to growl and bang the floor irefully with his 
tail, as he lay close to his master’s feet, getting ac¬ 
quainted with the new shoes they wore. 

“How came you there?” asked Mrs. Moss, rather 
disturbed at the news. 

“ Why, my father was the ‘ Wild Hunter of the 
Plains.’ Didn’t you ever see or hear of him?” said 
Ben, as if surprised at her ignorance. 

“ Bless your heart, child, I haven’t been to a circus 
this ten years, and I’m sure I don’t remember what 
or who I saw then,” answered Mrs. Moss, amused, yet 
touched by the son’s evident admiration for his father. 

“Didn’t you see him?” demanded Ben, turning to 
the little girls. 




80 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


“We saw Indians and tumbling men, and the Bound¬ 
ing Brothers of Borneo, and a clown and monkeys, and 
a Uttle mite of a pony with blue eyes. Was he any of 
them ? ” answered Betty, innocently. 

“Pooh! he didn’t belong to that lot. He always 
rode two, four, six, eight horses to oncet, and T used 
to ride with him till I got too big. My father waa 
A No. 1, and didn’t do any thing but break horses and 
ride ’em,” said Ben, with as much pride as if his parent 
had been a President. 

“ Is he dead? ” asked Mrs. Moss. 

“ I don’t know. Wish I did,” — and poor Ben gave 
a gulp as if something rose in his throat and choked 
him. 

“ TeU us aU about it, dear, and may be we can find 
out where he is,” said Mrs. Moss leaning forward to 
pat the shiny dark head that was suddenly bent over 
the dog. 

“Yes, ma’am, I will, thank y*,” and with an effort 
the boy steadied his voice and plunged into the middle 
of his story. 

“Father was always good to me, and I liked bein’ 
with him after granny died. I lived with her till I was 
seven; then father took me, and I was trained for a 
rider. You jest oughter have seen me when I was a 
little feUer all in white tights, and a gold belt, and pink 
riggin’, standin’ on father’s shoulder, or hangin’ on to 
old General’s tail, and him gallopin’ full pelt; or father 
Tidin’ three horses with me on his head wavin’ flags, 
and every one clappin’ like fun.” 

“Oh, weren’t you scared to pieces?” asked Betty, 
quaking at the mere thought. 


EIS STORY. 


31 


“ Not a bit. I liked it.” 

“ So should I! ” cned Bab enthusiastically. 

“Then I drove the four ponies in the little chariot^ 
when we paraded,” continued Ben, “ and I sat on the 
great ball up top of th* grand car drawed by Ilanniba; 
and Nero. But I didn^t like that, ’cause it was awfui 
high and shaky, and the sun was hot, and the trees 
slapped my face, and my legs ached holdin’ on.” 

“What’s hanny bells and neroes?” demanded 
Betty. 

“ Big elephants. Father never let ’em put me up 
there, and they didn’t darst till he was gone; then I 
had to, else they’d ’a’ thrashed me.” 

“Didn’t any one take your part?” asked Mrs. 
Moss. 

“ Yes,’m, ’most all the ladies did; they were very 
good to me, ’specially ’Melia. She vowed she wouldn’t 
go on in the Tunnymunt act if they didn’t stop knockin’ 
me round when I wouldn’t help old Buck with the bears. 
So they had to stop it, ’cause she led first rate, and 
none of the other ladies rode half as well as ’Meha.” 

“ Bears! oh, do tell about them! ” exclaimed Bab, 
in great excitement, for at the only circus she had seen 
the animals were her delight. 

“ Buck had five of ’em, cross old fellers, and he 
showed ’em ofl*. I played with ’em once, jest for fun, 
and he thought it would make a hit to have me show 
ofl instead of him. But they had a way of clawin’ and 
huggin’ that wasn’t nice, and you couldn’t never tell 
whether they were good-natured or ready to bite youi 
head oflT. Buck was all over scars where they’d 
scratched and bit him, and I wasn’t going to do it; and 







82 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


I didn’t have to, owin’ to Miss St. John’s standin* by 
me like a good one.” 

“Who was Miss St. John?” asked Mrs. Moss, 
rather confused by the sudden introduction of new 
names and people. 

“ Wby she was ’Melia, — Mrs. Smithers, the ring- 
master’s wife. His name wasn’t Montgomery any 
more’n hers was St John. They all change ’em to 
something fine on the bills, you know. Father used 
to be Senor Jose Montebello ; and I was Master Adol¬ 
phus Bloomsbury, after I stopped bein’ a flyin’ Coopid 
and a Infant Progidy.” 

Mrs. Moss leaned back in her chair to lau^ at that, 
greatly to the sui’prise of the little girls, who were much 
impressed with the elegance of these high-sounding 
names. 

“ Go on with your story, Ben, and teU why you ran 
away and what became of your Pa,” she said, composing 
herself to listen, really interested in the child. 

“WeU, you see, father had a quarrel with old 
Smithers, and went oflT sudden last fall, just before 
the tenting season was over. He told me he was 
goin’ to a great ridin’ school in New York, and when 
he was fixed he’d send for me. I was to stay in the 
museum and help Pedro with the trick business. He 
was a nice man and I liked him, and ’Melia was goin’ 
to see to me, and I didn’t mind for awhUe. But father 
didn’t send for me, and I began to have horrid times. 
If it hadn’t been for ’Melia and Sancho I would have 
cut away long before I did.” 

“ What did you have to do? ” 

“ Lots of things, for times was dull and I was smart 


EIS STORY 


Smithers said so, any way, and E had k) tumble up 
lively when he gave the word. I didn’t mind dom 
tricks or showin’ off Sancho, for father trained him, and 
he always did well with me. But they wanted me to 
drink gin to keep me small, and I wouldn’t, ’cause 
father didn’t like that kind of thing. I used to ride 
tip-top, and that just suited me till I got a faU and hurl 
my back; but I had to go on all the same, though I 
ached dreadful, and used to tumble off, I was so dizzy 
and weak.” 

“ What a brute that man must have been I Why 
didn’t ’Melia put a stop to it?” asked Mrs. Moss, 
indignantly. 

“ She died, ma’am, and then there was no one left 
but Sanch ; so I run away.” 

Then Ben fell to patting his dog again, to hide the 
tears he could not keep from coming at the thought of 
the kind friend he had lost. 

“ What did you mean to do? ” 

“Find father; but I couldn’t, for he wasn’t at the 
ridin’ school, and they told me he had gone out West 
to buy mustangs for a man who wanted a lot. So then 
I was in a fix, for I couldn’t go to father, didn’t know 
jest where he was, and I wouldn’t sneak back to 
Smithers to be abused. Tried to make ’em take me 
at the ridin’ school, but they didn’t want a boy, and 1 
travelled along and tried to get work. But I’d have 
starv^ed if it hadn’t been for Sanch. I left him tied up 
when I ran off, for fear they’d say I stole him. He ’a 
a very valuable dog, ma’am, the best trick dog I ever 
see, and they’d want him back more than they would 
me. He belongs to father, and 1 hated to leave him: 

0 








84 


UNDER TEE LILACS, 


but I did. I hooked it one dark night, and never 
thought 1 ’d see him ag'in. Next mornin’ I was eatin’ 
breakfast in a barn miles away, and di’eadftd lonesome, 
when he came tearin’ in, all mud and wet, with a great 
piece of rope draggin’. He'd gnawed it and come 
after me, and wouldn’t go back or be lost; and I ’ll 
never leave him again, will 1, dear old feller?'* 

Sancho had listened to this portion of the tale with 
intense interest, and when Ben spoke to him he stood 
straight up, put both paws on the boy’s shoulders, 
licked his face with a world of dumb affection in his 
yellow eyes, and gave a little whine which said as 
plainly as words, — 

“ Cheer up, httle master; fathers may vanish and 
friends die, but 1 never will desert you.” 

Ben hugged him close and smiled over his curly, 
white head at the little girls, who clapped their hands 
at the pleasing tableau, and then went to pat and fon¬ 
dle the good creature, assuring him that they entirely 
forgave the theft of the cake and the new dinner-pail. 
Inspired by these endearments and certain private 
signals given by Ben, Sancho suddenly burst away to 
perform all his best antics with unusual grace and 
dexterity. 

Bab and Betty danced about the room with rapture, 
while Mrs. Moss declared she was almost afraid to have 
such a wonderfully intelligent animal in the house. 
Praises of his dog pleased Ben more than praises of 
himself, and when the eonfusion had subsided he en¬ 
tertained his audience with a lively account of Sancho’s 
cleverness, fidelity, and the various adventui-es in which 
he had nobly borne his part. 


HIS STORY. 


85 


While he talked, Mrs. Moss was making up her mind 
about him, and when he came to an end of his dog’s 
perfections, she said, gravely, — 

“ If I can find something for you to do, would you 
like to stay here awhile ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, ma’am, I’d be glad to! ” answered Ben, 
eagerly; for the place seemed home-like already, and 
the good woman almost as motherly as the departed 
Mrs. Smithers. 

“Well, I’ll step over to the Squire’s to-morrow to 
see what he says. Shouldn’t wonder if he’d take you 
for a chore-boy, if you are as smart as you say. He 
always has one in the summer, and I haven’t seen any 
round yet. Can you drive cows ? ” 

“ Hope so ; ” and Ben gave a shrug, as if it was a 
very unnecessary question to put to a person who had 
driven four calico ponies in a gilded chariot. 

“ It mayn’t be as lively as riding elephants and play¬ 
ing with bears, but it is respectable ; and I guess you’ll 
be happier switching Brindle and Buttercup than being 
switched yourself,” said Mrs. Moss, shaking her head 
at him with a smile. 

“ I guess I will, ma’am,” answered Ben, with sudden 
meekness, remembering the trials from which he had 
escaped. 

Very soon after this, he was sent off for a good night’s 
sleep in the back bedroom, with Sancho to watch over 
him. But both found it difficult to slumber till the 
racket overhead subsided; for Bab insisted on playing 
she was a bear and devouring poor Betty in spite of 
her wails, till their mother came up and put an end to 
it by threatening to send Ben and his dog away in the 









36 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


morning, if the girls “ didn’t behave and be as still as 
mice.” 

This they solemnly promised; and they were soon 
dreaming of gilded cars and mouldy coaches, run¬ 
away boys and dinner-pails, dancing dogs and twirling 
teacups. 




CHAPTER V. 


BEN GETS A PLACE. 

W HEN Ben awoke next morning, he looked abont 
him for a moment half bewildered, because 
there was neither a canvas tent, a barn roof, nor the 
blue sky above him, but a neat white ceiling, where 
several flies buzzed sociably together, while from vrith- 
out came, not the tramping of horses, the twitter of 
swallows, or the chirp of early birds, but the comfort¬ 
able cackle of hens and the sound of two little voices 
chanting the multiplication table. 

Sancho sat at the open window watching the old cat 
wash her face, and trying to imitate her with his great 
ruffled paw, so awkwardly that Ben laughed; and Sanch, 
to hide his confusion at being caught, made one bound 
from chair to bed, and licked his master’s face so ener 
getically that the boy dived under the bedclothes to 
escape from the rough tongue. 

A rap on the floor from below made both jump up, 
and in ten minutes a shiny-faced lad and a lively dog 
went racing downstairs, —one to say, “ Good-mornin’, 
ma’am,” the other to wag his tail faster than ever tail 
wagged before, for ham frizzled on the stove, and Sancho 
was fond of it. 

“ Did you rest well?’^ asked Mrs. Moss, nodding at 
him, fork in hand. 


38 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


“Guess I did! Never saw such a bed. I’m used 
to hay and a horse-blanket, and lately nothin’ but sky 
for a cover and grass for my feather-bed,” laughed Ben, 
grateful for present comforts and making light of past 
hardships. 

“ Clean, sweet com-husks ain’t bad for young bones, 
even if they haven’t got more flesh on them than yours 
have,” answered Mrs. Moss, giving the smooth head a 
motherly stroke as she went by. 

“ Fat ain’t allowed in our profession, ma’am. The 
thinner the better for tight-ropes and tumblin’; likewise 
bareback ridin’ and spry jugglin’. Muscle’s the thing, 
and there you are.” 

Ben stretched out a wiry little arm with a clenched 
fist at the end of it, as if he were a young Hercules, 
ready to play ball with the stove if she gave him leave. 
Glad to see him in such good spirits, she pointed to the 
well outside, sa3dng pleasantly, — 

“Well, then, just try your muscle by bringing in 
some fresh water.” 

Ben caught up a pail and ran off, ready to be useful; 
but, whUe he waited for the bucket to fill down among 
the mossy stones, he looked about him, well pleased 
with all he saw, — the small brown house with a pretty 
curl of smoke rising from its chimne}", the little sisters 
sitting in the sunshine, green hiUs and newly-planted 
fields far and near, a brook dancing through the orchard, 
birds smging in the elm avenue, and all the world as 
fresh and lovely as early summer could make it. 

“ Don’t you think it’s pretty nice here?” asked Bab, 
as his eye came back to them after a long look, which 
seemed to take in every thing, brightening as it roved. 




BEN GETS A PLACE, 


39 


“ Just the nicest place that ever was. Only needs a 
horse round somewhere to be complete,” answered Ben, 
as the long well-sweep came up with a dripping bucket 
at one end, an old grindstone at the other. 

“ The Judge has three, but he^s so fussy about them 
he won’t even let us pull a few hairs out of old Major’s 
tail to make rings of,” said Betty, shutting her arith¬ 
metic, with an injured expression. 

“ Mike lets me ride the white one to water when the 
Judge isn’t round. It’s such fun to go jouncing down 
the lane and back. I do love horses ! ” cried Bab, bob¬ 
bing up and down on the blue bench to imitate the 
motion of white Jenny. 

“ I guess you are a plucky sort of a girl,” and Ben 
gave her an approving look as he went by, taking care 
to slop a little water on Mrs. Puss, who stood curling 
her whiskers and humping up her back at Sancho. 

“Come to breakfast!” called Mrs. Moss; and for 
about twenty minutes httle was said, as mush and milk 
vanished in a way that would have astonished even Jack 
the Giant-killer with his leather bag. 

“ Now, girls, fly round and get your chores done up ; 
Ben, you go chop me some kindlings; and I ’ll make 
things tidy. Then we can all start ofT at once.” said 
Mrs. Moss, as the last mouthful vanished, and Sancho 
licked his lips over the savory scraps that fell to his 
share. 

Ben fell to chopping so vigorously that chips flew 
wildly all about the shed ; Bab rattled the cups into her 
dish-pan with dangerous haste, and Betty raised a 
cloud of dust “ sweeping-up; ” while mother seemed to 
be everj-where at once. Even Sanch, feeling that his 






40 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


fate was at stake, endeavored to help in his own some¬ 
what erratic way, — now frisking about Ben at the risk 
of getting his tail chopped off, then trotting away to 
poke his inquisitive nose into every closet and room 
whither he followed Mrs. Moss in her ‘‘flying round” 
evolutions; next dragging off the mat so Betty could 
brush the door-steps, or inspecting Bab’s dish-washing 
by standing on his hind-legs to survey the table with 
a critical air. When they drove him out he was not 
the least offended, but gayly barked Puss up a tree, 
chased all the hens over the fence, and carefully interred 
an old shoe in the garden, where the remains of the 
mutton-bone were already buried. 

By the time the others were ready he nad worked off 
his superfluous spirits, and trotted behind the party like 
a well-behaved dog accustomed to go out walking with 
ladies. At the cross-roads they separated, the little 
girls running on to school, while Mrs. Moss and Ben 
went up to the Squire’s big house on the hill . 

“ Don’t you be scared, child. I ’ll make it all right 
about your running away ; and if the Squire gives you 
a job, just thank him for it, and do your best to be 
steady and industrious ; then you ’ll get on, I haven’t a 
doubt,” she whispered, ringing the bell at a side-door, 
on which the word “ Morris” shone in bright letters. ' 

“ Come in! ” called a gruff voice ; and, feeling very 
much as if he were going to have a tooth out, Ben 
meekly followed the good woman, who put on her 
pleasantest smile, anxious to make the best possible 
impression. 

A white-headed old gentleman sat reading a paper, 
and peered over his glasses at the new-comers with a 





BEN GETS A PLACE. 


4l 


pair of sharp eyes, saying in a testy tone, -which would 
have rather daunted any one who did not know what a 
kind heart he had under his capacious waistcoat, — 
“Good-morning, ma^am. What’s the matter now? 
X'oung tramp been stealing your chickens ? ” 

“Oh, dear no, sir!” exclaimed Mrs. Moss, as if 
shocked at the idea. Then, in a few words, she told Ben’s 
story, unconsciously making his wrongs and destitution 
so pathetic by her looks and tones, that the Squire could 
not help being interested, and even Ben pitied himself 
as if he were somebody else. 

“ Now, then, boy, what can fm do?” asked the old 
gentleman, with an approving nod to Mrs. Moss as she 
finished, and such a keen glance iVom under his bushy 
brows that Ben felt as if he was perfectly transparent. 

“ ’Most any thing, sir, to get my livin’.” 

“ Can you weed?” 

“ Never did, but I can learn, sir.” 

“ Pull up all the beets and leave the pigweed, hey? 
Can you pick strawberries?” 

“ Never tried any thing but eatiu’ ’em, sir.” 

“ Not likely to forget that part of the job. Can you 
ride a horse to plow ? ” 

“Guess I could, sir!” — and Ben’s eyes began to 
sparkle, for he dearly loved the noble animals who had 
been his dearest friends lately. 

“ No antics allowed. My horse is a fine fellow, and 
f’m very particular about him.” 

The Squire spoke soberly, but there was a twinkle in 
his eye, and Mrs. Moss tried not to smile; for the Squire’s 
horse was a joke all over the town, being about twenty 
years old, and having a peculiar gait of his own. Idling 





42 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


his fore-feet very high, with a great show of speed, 
though never going out of a jog-trot. The boys 
used to say he galloped before and walked behind, 
and made all sorts of fun of the big, Roman-nosed 
beast, who allowed no liberties to be taken with 
him. 

“I’m too fond of horses to hurt ’em, sm As for 
ndin’, I ain’t afraid of any thing on four legs. The 
King of Morocco used to kick and bite like fun, but I 
could manage him first-rate.” 

“ Then you’d be able to drive cows to pasture, per¬ 
haps ? ” 

“I’ve drove elephants and camels, ostriches and 
grizzly bears, and mules, and six 3^ellow ponies all to 
oncet. May be I could manage cows if I tried hard,” 
answered Ben, endeavoring to be meek and respectful 
when scorn filled his soul at the idea of not being able 
to drive a cow. 

The Squire liked him aU the better for the droll 
mixture of indignation and amusement betra^^ed by 
the fire in his ej^es and the sly smile round his lips; 
and being rather tickled by Ben’s list of animals, he 
answered, gravely, — 

“We don’t raise elephants and camels much round 
here Bears used to be plenty, but folks got tired of 
them. Mules are numerous, but we have the two- 
legged kind; and as a general thing prefer Shanghae 
fowls to ostriches.” 

He got no farther, for Ben laughed out so infec¬ 
tiously that both the others joined him; and somehow 
that jolly laugh seemed to settle matters better than 
words. As they stopped, the Squire tapped on tlie 



BEN GETS A PLACE. 


43 


window behind him, saying, with an attempt at the 
former gi’uffiiess, — 

“Weil try you on cows awhile. My man will 
show 3’ou where to chive them, and give you some 
odd jobs through the day. I ^11 see what you are good 
for, and send you word to-night, Mrs. Moss. The 
boy can sleep at your house, can’t he ? ” 

“ Yes, indeed, sir. He can go on doing it, and 
come up to his work just as well as not. I can see 
to him then, and he won’t be % care to any one,” said 
Mrs. Moss, heartily. 

“I’ll make inquiries concerning your father, boy, 
meantime mind what 3^ou are about, and have a good 
report to give when he comes for y’ou,” returned the 
Squire, with a warning wag of a stern fore-finger. 

“ Thank3"’, sir. I will, sir. Father’ll come just 
as soon as he can, if he isn’t sick or lost,” murmured 
Ben, inwardly thanking his stars that he had not done 
any thing to make him quake before that awful finger, 
and resolving that he never would. 

Here a red-headed Irishman came to the door, and 
stood e3’'ing the bo3’ with small favor while the Squire 
gave his orders. 

“ Pat, this lad wants work. He’s to take the cows 
and go for them. Give him any light jobs 3"ou have, 
and let me know if he’s good for any thing.” 

“ Yis, 3"Our honor. Come out o’ this, b’y, till I shew 
ye the bastes,” responded Pat; and, with a hasty good-' 
by to Mrs. Moss, Ben followed his new leader, sorely 
tempted to play some naughty trick upon him in return 
for his ungracious reception. 

But in a moment he forgot that Pat existed, foi 


# 






44 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


In the yard stood the Duke of Wellington, so named 
in honor of his Roman nose. If Ben had known any 
thing about Shakspeare, he would have cried, “ A 
horse, a horse ! — my kingdom for a horse ! for the 
feeling was in his heart, and he ran up to the stately 
animal without a fear. Duke put back his ears and 
swished his tail as if displeased for a moment; but 
Ben looked straight in his eyes, gave a scientific stroke 
to the iron-gray nose, and uttered a chirrup which 
made the ears prick up as if recognizing a familiar 
sound. 

“ He’ll nip ye, if ye go botherin’ that way. L’ave 
him alone, and attind to the cattle as his honor tould 
ye,” commanded Pat, who made a great show of respect 
toward Duke in public, and kicked him brutally in 
private. 

“I ain’t afraid! You won’t hurt me, will you, old 
feller? See there now I — he knows I’m a friend, and 
l^akes to me right off,” said Ben, with an arm around 
Duke’s neck, and his own cheek confidingly laid against 
the animal’s; for the intelligent eyes spoke to him as 
plainly as the little whinny which he understood and 
accepted as a welcome. 

The Squire saw it all from the open window, and 
suspecting from Pat’s face that trouble was brewing, 
called out, — 

“ Let the lad harness Duke, if he can. I’m going 
out directly, and he may as well try that as any thing.” 

Ben was delighted, and proved himself so brisk and 
handy that the roomy chaise stood at the door in a 
surprisingly short time, with a smiling little ostler at 
Duke’s head when the Squire came out. 






BEN GETS A PLACE. 


45 


His affection for the horse pleased the old gentleman, 
and his neat way of harnessing suited as well; but 
Ben got no praise, except a nod and a brief “ All right, 
boy,” as the equipage went creaking and jogging away. 

Four sleek cows filed out of the barnyard when Pat 
opened the gate, and Ben drove them down the road 
to a distant pasture where the early grass awaited theii 
eager cropping. By the school they went, and the boy 
looked pit;yingly at the black, brown, and yellow heads 
bobbing past the windows as a class went up to recite; 
for it seemed a hard thing to the hberty-loving lad to 
be shut up there so many hours on a morning like that. 

But a little breeze that was placing truant round the 
steps did Ben a service without knowing it, for a 
sudden puff blew a torn leaf to his feet, and seeing a 
picture he took it up. It evidently had fallen from 
some ill-used history, for the picture showed some queer 
ships at anchor, some oddly dressed men just landing, 
and a crowd of Indians dancing about on the shore. 
Ben spelt out aU he could about these interesting 
personages, but could not discover what it meant, 
because ink evidently had deluged the page, to the 
new reader’s great disappointment. 

“I’ll ask the girls; may be they will know,” said 
Ben to himself as, after looking vainly for more strsyr 
leaves, he trudged on, enjojung the bobolink’s song, 
the warm sunshine, and a comfortable sense of friendii* 
ness and safety, which soon set him to whistling as 
gayly as any blackbird in the meadow. 



CHAPTER VI. 


A CIRCULATING LIBRARY, 

Fl'ER supper that night, Bab and Betty sat in the 



old porch placing with Josephus and Belinda, 
and discussing the events of the day; for the appear¬ 
ance of the strange boy and his dog had been a most 
exciting occurrence in their quiet lives. They had seen 
n(»thing of him since morning, as he took his meals 
at the Squire’s, and was at work with Pat in a distant 
fic.ld when the children passed. Sancho had stuck 
cbsely to his master, evidently rather bewildered by 
the new order of things, and bound to see that no haim 
happened to Ben. 

“I wish they’d come. It’s sundown, and I heard 
the cows mooing, so I know they have gone home,’' 
said Betty, impatiently; for she regarded the new¬ 
comer in the light of an entertaining book, and wished 
to read on as fast as possible. 

“I’m going to learn the signs he makes when he 
wants Sancho to dance; then we can have fun with 
him whenever we hke. He’s the dearest dog I ever 
saw! ” answered Bab, who was fonder of animals than 
her sister. 

“Ma said — Ow, what’s that?” cried Betty with a 
start, as something bumped against the gate outside; 






A CIRCULATING LIBRARY. 


47 


and in a moment Ben's head peeped over the top as he 
swung himself up to the iron arch, in the middle of 
which was the empty lantern frame. 

“ Please to locate, gentlemen; please to locate. 
The performance is about to begin with the great 
Flyin’ Coopid act, in which Master Bloomsbury has 
appeared before the crowned heads of Europe. Pro¬ 
nounced by all beholders the most remarkable youthful 
progidy agoin’. Hooray! here we are ! ” 

Having rattled off the familiar speech in Mr. Smithers's 
elegant manner, Ben began to cut up such capers that 
even a party of dignified hens, going down the avenue 
to bed, paused to look on with clucks of astonishment, 
evidently fancying that salt had set him to fiuttering 
and tumbling as it did them. Never had the old gate 
beheld such antics, though it had seen gay doings in 
its time; for of all the boys who had climbed over it, 
not one had ever stood on his head upon each of the 
big balls which ornamented the posts, hung by his 
heels from the arch, gone round and round like a wheel 
with the bar for an axis, played a tattoo with his toes 
while holding on by his chin, walked about the wall on 
his hands, or closed the entertainmeat by festooning 
himself in an airy posture over the side of the lantern 
frame, and kissing his hand to the audience as a well- 
bred Cupid is supposed to do on making his bow. 

The little girls clapped and stamped enthusiastically, 
while Sancho, who had been calmly surveying the show, 
barked his approval as he leaped up to snap at Ben’s 
feet. 

“ Come down and tell what you did up at the 
Squire’s, Was he cross? Did you have to work 





48 


UNDER THE LILACii. 


hard? Do you like it?” asked Bab, when tho noise 
had subsided. 

“It’s cooler up here,” answered Ben, composing 
himself in the frame, and fanning his hot face with a 
gi’een spray broken from the tall bushes rustling odor- 
ously all about him. “ I did all sorts of jobs. Tho 
old gentleman wasn’t cross; he gave me a dime, and 
I like him first-rate. But I just hate ‘ Carrots; ’ he 
swears at a feller, and fired a stick of wood at me. 
Guess I ’U pay him off when I get a chance.” 

Fumbling in his pocket to show the bright dime, he 
found the tora page, and remembered the tliii'st for 
information which had seized him in the morning. 

“ Look here, tell me about this, wiU you? What are 
these chaps up to? The ink has spoilt aU but the 
picture and this bit of reading. I want to know what 
it means. Take it to ’em, Sanch.” 

The dog caught the leaf as it fluttered to the ground, 
and carrying it carefully in his mouth, deposited it at 
the feet of the little girls, seating himself before them 
with an air of deep interest. Bab and Betty picked it 
up and read it aloud in unison, while Ben leaned from 
his perch to listen and learn. 

“ ‘ When day dawned, land was visible. A pleasant 
land it was. There were gay flowers, and tall trees 
with leaves and fruit, such as they had never seen 
before. On the shore were unclad copper-colored 
men, gazing with wonder at the Spanish ships. They 
took them for great birds, the white sails for their 
wings, and the Spaniards for superior beings brought 
down from heaven on their backs.’ ” 

“ Why, that’s Columbus finding San Salvador. 








A CIUCULATING LIBRARY. 


49 


Don’t know about him?” demanded Bab, as if 
she were one of the “ superior beings,” and intimately 
acquainted with the immortal Christopher. 

“No, I don’t. Who was he any way? I s’pose 
that’s him paddlin’ ahead; but which of the Injuns is 
Sam Salvindoor?” asked Ben, rather ashamed of hia 
ignorance, but bent on finding out now he had begun. 

“ My gracious! twelve years old and not know youi 
Quackenbos ! ” laughed Bab, much amused, but rather 
glad to find that she could teach the “ whirligig 
boy ” something, for she considered him a remarkable 
creature. 

“I don’t care a bit for your quackin’ boss, whoever 
he is. Tell about this fine feller with the ships ; I like 
him,** persisted Ben. 

So Bab, with frequent interruptions and hints from 
Betty, told the wonderful tale in a simple way, which 
made it easy to understand; for she liked history, and 
had a lively tongue of her own. 

“I’d like to read some more. Would my ten cents 
buy a book ? ” asked Ben, anxious to learn a little since 
Bab laughed at him. 

“No, indeed! I’ll lend you mine when I’m not 
using it, and tell you all about it,” promised Bab ; for¬ 
getting that she did not know “ all about it” herself 
yet. 

“ I don’t have any time only evenings, and then may 
be you ’U want it,” begun Ben, in whom the inky page 
had roused a strong curiosity. 

“ I do get my history in the evening, but you could 
have it mornings before school.” 

“ I shall have to go oflT early, so there won’t be any 
3 u 







60 


CNDER THE LILACS. 


chance. Yes, there will, — I’ll tell you how to do it. 
Let me read while I drive up the eows. Squire likes 
’em to eat slow along the road, so’s to keep the grass 
short and save mowin’. Pat said so, and I could do 
history instead of loafin’ round! ” cried Ben full of this 
bright idea. 

“ How will I get my book back in time to recite? * 
asked Bab, prudently. 

“ Oh, I’ll leave it on the window-siU, or put it inside 
the door as I go back. I ’ll be real careful, and just as 
soon as I earn enough, I ’ll buy you a new one and take 
the old one. Will you ? ” 

“Yes; but I’ll tell you a nicer way to do. Don’t 
put the book on the window, ’cause teacher will see 
you; or inside the door, ’cause some one may steal it. 
You put it in my cubby-house, right at the corner of 
the wall nearest the big maple. You ’ll find a cunning 
place between the roots that stick up under the fiat 
stone. That’s my closet, and I keep things there. It’s 
the best cubby of all, and we take turns to have 
it.” 

“I’ll find it, and that’ll be a first-rate place,” said 
Ben, much gratified. 

“ I could put my reading-book in sometimes, if you’d 
like it. There’s lots of pretty stories in it and pictures,’* 
proposed Betty, rather timidly; for she wanted to share 
the benevolent project, but had little to oflTer, not being 
as good a scholar as bright Bab. 

“I’d like a ’rithmetic better. I read tip-top, but I 
ain’t much on ’rithmetic; so, if you can spare yours, 
I might take a look at it. Now I’m goin’ to earn 
wages, I ought to know about addin’ ’em up, and so on,” 




A CIRCULATING LIBRARY. 


61 


said Ben, with the air of a Vanderbilt oppressed with 
the care of milhons. 

“I’ll teach you that. Betty doesn’t know much 
about sums. But she spells splendidly, and is always 
at the head of her class. Teacher is real proud of her, 
^csiise she never misses, and spells hard, fussy words, 
like chi-rog-ra-phy and hron-dd-tis as easy as any thing.” 

Bab quite beamed with sisterly pride, and Betty 
smoothed down her apron with modest satisfaction, 
fbr Bab seldom praised her, and she hked it very much. 

“ I never went to school, so that’s the reason I ain’t 
smart. I can write, tiiougn. Detier ’n some of the boys 
up at school. I saw lots of names on the shed door. 
See here, now,” — and scrambling down, Ben pulled out 
a cherished bit of chalk, and floui’ished off ten letters of 
the alphabet, one on each of the dark stone slabs that 
paved the walk. 

“ Those are beautiful! I can’t make such curly ones. 
Who taught you to do it ? ” asked Bab, as she and 
Betty walked up and down admiring them. 

“ Horse blankets,” answered Ben, soberly. 

“ What! ” cried both girls, stopping to stare. 

“ Our horses all had their names on their blankets, 
and I used to copy ’em. The wagons had signs, and I 
learned to read that way after father taught me my 
letters off the red and yellow posters. First word I 
knew was ’cause I was always goin’ to see old 

Jubal in his cage. Father was real proud when I read 
it right off. I can draw one, too.” 

Ben proceeded to depict an animal intended to repre¬ 
sent his lost friend ; but Jubal would not have recognized 
his portrait, since it looked much more like Sancho than 









52 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


the king of the forest. The children admired it irn* 
mensely, however, and Ben gave them a lesson in 
natural history which was so interesting that it kept 
them busy and happy till bedtime ; for the boy described 
what he had seen in such livel}" language, and illus¬ 
trated in such a droll way, it was no wonder they were 
charmed. 



CHAPTER VII. 


NEW FRIENDS TROT IN. 

N ext day Ben ran off to his work with Quacken 
bos’s “ Elementary History of the United States” 
in his pocket, and the Squire’s cows had ample time to 
breakfast on wayside grass before they were put into 
their pasture. Even than the pleasant lesson was not 
ended, for Ben had an errand to town; and all the way 
he read busily, tumbling over the hard words, and leav¬ 
ing bits which he did not understand to be explained at 
night by Bab. 

At “ The First Settlements” he had to stop, for the 
schoolhouse was reached, and the book must be re¬ 
turned. The maple-tree closet was easily found, and a 
little surprise hidden under the flat stone ; for Ben paid 
two sticks of red and white candy for the privilege of 
taking books from the new library. 

'When recess came, great was the rejoicing of the 
children over their unexpected treat, for Mrs. Moss had 
few pennies to spare for sweets, and, somehow, this ^ 
candy tasted particularly nice, bought out of grateful 
Ben’s solitary dime. The little girls shared their goodies 
with their favorite mates, but said nothing about the 
new arrangement, fearing it would be spoilt if generally 
known. They told their mother, however, and she gave 



54 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


them leave to lend their books and encourage Ben to 
love learning all they could. She also proposed that 
they should drop patch-work, and help her make some 
blue shirts for Ben. Mrs. Barton had given her the 
materials, and she thought it would be an excellent 
lesson in needle-work as well as a useful gift to Ben, — 
who, boy-like, never troubled himself as to what he 
should wear when his one suit of clothes gave out. 

Wednesday afternoon was the sewing time; so the 
two little B’s worked busily at a pair of shirt-sleeves, 
sitting on their bench in the doorway, while the rusty 
needles creaked in and out, and the childish voices 
sang school-songs, with frequent stoppages for lively 
chatter. 

For a week, Ben worked away bravely, and never 
shirked nor complained, although Pat put many a hard 
or disagreeable job upon him, and chores grew more and 
more distasteful. His only comfort was the knowledge 
that Mrs. Moss and the Squire were satisfied with him ; 
his only pleasure the lessons he learned while driving 
the cows, and recited in the evening when the three 
children met under the lilacs to “ play school.” 

He had no thought of studying when he began, and 
hardly knew that he was doing it as he pored over the 
different books he took from the library. But the little 
girls tried him with all they possessed, and he was mor¬ 
tified to find how ignorant he was. He never owned it 
in words, but gladly accepted all the bits of knowledge 
they oflTered from their small store; getting Betty to 
hear him spell “just for fun ; ” agreeing to draw Bab all 
the bears and tigers she wanted if she would show him 
how to do sums on the flags, and often beguiled hia 


NEW FRIENDS TROT IN 


55 


lonely labors by trying to chant the multiphcation table 
as they did. WTien Tuesday night came round, the 
Squire paid him a dollar, said he was “ a likely boy,” 
and might stay another week if he chose. Ben thanked 
him and thought he would; but the next morning, after 
he had put up the bars, he remained sitting on the top 
rail to consider his prospects, for he felt uncommonly 
reluctant to go back to the society of rough Pat. Like 
most boys, he hated work, unless it was of a sort which 
just suited him; then he could toil like a beaver and 
never tire. His wandering life had given him no habits 
of steady industry; and, while he was an unusually 
capable lad of his age, he dearly loved to “ loaf” about 
and have a good deal of variety and excitement in his 
life. 

Now he saw nothing before him but days of patient 
and very uninteresting labor. He was heartily sick of 
weeding; even riding Duke before the cultivator had 
lost its charms, and a great pile of wood lay in the 
Squire’s yard, which he knew he would be set to piling 
up in the shed. Strawberry-picking would soon follow 
the asparagus cultivation; then having; and so on all 
the long bright summer, without any fun, unless his 
father came for him. 

On the other hand, he was not obliged to stay a 
minute longer unless he liked. With a comfortable suit 
of clothes, a dollar in his pocket, and a row of dinner- 
baskets hanging in the school-house entry to supply him 
with provisions if he didn’t mind stealing them, what 
was easier than to run away again ? Tramping has its 
charms in fair weather, and Ben had lived like a gypsy 
under canvas for years ; so he feared nothing, and began 








56 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


to look down the leafy road with a restless, wistful 
expression, as the temptation grew stronger and stronger 
every minute. 

Sancho seemed to share the longing, for he kept 
running off a little way and stopping to frisk and bark ; 
then rushed back to sit watching his master with those 
intelligent eyes of his, which seemed to say, “ Come 
on, Ben, let us scamper down this pleasant road and 
never stop till we are tired.” Swallows darted by, white 
clouds fled before the balmy west wind, a squirrel ran 
along the wall, and all things seemed to echo the boy's 
desu’e to leave toil behind and roam away as care-free 
as they. One thing restrained him,—the thought of 
his seeming ingratitude to. good Mrs. Moss, and the 
disappointment of the little girls at the loss of their 
two new play-fellows. While he paused to think of this, 
something happened which kept him from doing what he 
would have been sm'e to regret afterward. 

Horses had always been his best friends, and one 
came trotting up to help him now; though he did not 
know how much he owed it till long after. Just in the 
act of swinging himself over the bars to take a short 
cut across the fields, the sound of approaching hoofs, 
unaccompanied by the roll of wheels, caught his ear; 
and, pausing, he watched eagerly to see who was 
coming at such a pace. 

At the turn of the road, however, the quick trot 
stopped, and in a moment a lady on a bay mare came 
pacing slowly into sight, — a young and pretty lady, all 
in dark blue, with a bunch of dandelions like yellow 
stars in her button-hole, and a silver-handled, whip 
hanging from the pommel of her saddle, evidently 


NEW FRIENDS TROT IN. 


67 


more for ornament than use. The handsome mare 
limped a little, and shook her head as if something 
plagued her; while her mistress leaned down to see 
what was the matter, saying, as if she expected an 
answer of some sort,— 

“ Now, Chevahta, if you have got a stone in your 
foot, I shall have to get off and take it out. Why 
don’t you look where you step, and save me all this 
trouble ? ” 

“I’ll look for you, ma’am; I’d like to!” said an 
eager voice so unexpectedly, that both horse and rider 
started as a boy came down the bank with a jump. 

“ I wish you would. You need not be afraid; Lita is 
as gentle as a lamb,” answered the young lady, smiling, 
as if amused by the boy’s earnestness. 

“She’s a beauty, any way,” muttered Ben, lifting 
one foot after another tiU he found the stone, and with 
some trouble got it out. 

“That was nicely done, and I’m much obliged. 
Can you teU me if that cross-road leads to the Ehns ? ” 
asked the lady, as she went slowly on with Ben beside 
her. 

“No, ma’am; I’m new in these parts, and I only 
know where Squire Morris and Mrs. Moss live.” 

“ I want to see both of them, so suppose you show 
me the way. I was here long ago, and thought I should 
remember how to find the old house with the elm avenue 
and the big gate, but I don’t.” 

“ I know it; they call that place the Laylocks now, 
’cause there’s a hedge of ’em all down the path and 
front wall. It’s a real pretty place; Bab and Betty 
play there, and so do I.” 
a* 









58 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


Ben could not restrain a chuckle at the recollection 
of his first appearance there, and, as if his merriment 
or his words interested her, the lady said pleasantly, 
“Tell me all about it. Are Bab and Betty your 
sisters ? ” 

Quite forgetting his intended tramp, Ben plunged into 
a copious history of himself and new-made friends, led 
on by a kind look, an inquiring word, and sympathetic 
smile, till he had told every thing. At the school-house 
corner he stopped and said, spreading his arms like a 
sign-post, — 

“ That’s the way to the Laylocks, and this is the way 
to the Squire’s.” 

“ As I’m in a hurry to see the old house, I ’ll go this 
way first, if you will be kind enough to give my love to 
Mrs. Morris, and tell the Squire Miss Ceha is coming 
to dine with him. I won’t say good-by, because I shall 
see you again.” 

With a nod and a smile, the young lady cantered 
away, and Ben hurried up the hiU to deliver his message, 
feeling as if something pleasant was going to happen; 
so it would be wise to defer running away, for the pres¬ 
ent at least. 

At one o’clock Miss Celia arrived, and Ben had the 
delight of helping Pat stable pretty Chevalita; then, his 
own dinner hastily eaten, he fell to work at the detested 
wood-pile with sudden energy; for as he worked he 
could steal peeps into the dining-room, and see the curly 
brown head between the two gray ones, as the three sat 
round the table. He could not help hearing a word 
now*and then, as the windows were open, and these 
bits of conversation filled him with curiosity; for the 


NEW FRIENDS TROT IN. 


59 


names “Thorny/’ “Celia,” and “George” were often 
repeated, and an occasional merry laugh from the 
young lady sounded like music in that usually quiet 
place. 

When dinner was over, Ben’s industrious fit left him, 
and he leisurely trundled his barrow to and fro till the 
guest departed. There was no chance for him to help 
now, since Pat, anxious to get whatever trifle might be 
offered for his services, was quite devoted in his atten¬ 
tions to the mare and her mistress, till she was mounted 
and off. But Miss Celia did not forget her little guide, 
and, spying a wistful face behind the wood-pile, paused 
at the gate and beckoned with that winning smile of 
hers. If ten Pats had stood scowling in the way, Ben 
would have defied them all; and, vaulting over the 
fence, he ran up with a shining face, hoping she wanted 
some last favor of him. Leaning down. Miss Celia 
slipped a new quarter into his hand, saying, — 

“Lita wants me to give you this for taking the 
stone out of her foot.” 

“Thank y’, ma’am; I liked to do it, for I hate to 
see ’em limp, ’specially such a pretty one as she is,” 
answered Ben, stroking the glossy neck with a loving 
touch. 

“The Squire says you know a good deal about 
Iiorses, so I suppose you understand the Houyhnhnm 
language? I’m learning it, and it is very nice,” 
laughed Miss Celia, as Chevalita gave a little whinny 
and snuggled her nose into Ben’s pocket. 

“No, miss, I never went to school.” 

“That is not taught there. I ’ll bring you a book all 
about it when I come back. Mr. Gulliver went to the 








60 


UNDER THE LILACS, 


horse-country and heard the dear things speak their own 
tongue.” 

“My father has been on the prairies, where there’s 
lots of wild ones, but he didn’t hear ’em speak. I know 
what they want without talkin,” answered Ben, sus¬ 
pecting a joke, but not exactly seeing what it was. 

“ I don’t doubt it, but I won’t forget the book. 
Good b}^, my lad, we shall soon meet again,” and 
away went Miss Celia as if she were in a hurry to get 
back. 

“ If she only had a red habit and a streamin’ white 
feather, she’d look as fine as ’Melia used to. She is 
’most as kind and rides ’most as well. Wonder where 
she’s goin’ to. Hope she will come soon,” thought Ben, 
watching till the last flutter of the blue habit vanished 
round the corner; and then he went back to his work 
with his head full of the promised book, pausing now 
and then to chink the two silver halves and the new 
quarter together in his pocket, wondering what he should 
buy with this vast sum. 

Bab and Betty meantime had had a most exciting day; 
for when they went home at noon they found the pretty 
lady there, and she had talked to them like an old friend, 
given them a ride on the little horse, and kissed them 
both good-by when they went back to school. In the 
'ifternoon the lady was gone, the old house aU open, 
and their mother sweeping, dusting, airing, in great 
fi})ints. So they had a splendid frolic tumbling on 
feather beds, beating bits of caipet, opening closets, 
and racing from garret to cellar like a pair of distracted 
kittens. 

Here Ben found them, and was at once overwhelmed 


NEW FRIENDS TROT IN. 


61 


with a burst of news which excited him as much as it 
did them. Miss Celia owned the house, was coming 
to live there, and things were to be made ready as soon 
as possible. All thought the prospect a charming one : 
Mrs. Moss, because life had been dull for her during the 
3"ear she had taken charge of the old house; the little 
girls had heard rumors of various pets who were com¬ 
ing ; and Ben, learning that a boy and a donkey were 
among them, resolved that nothing but the arrival of 
his father should tear him from this now deeply inter¬ 
esting spot. 

“I’m in such a hurry to see the peacocks and hear 
them scream. She said they did, and that we’d laugh 
when old Jack brayed,” cried Bab, hopping about on 
one foot to work off her impatience. 

“Is a faytun a kind of a bird? I heard her say 
she could keep it in the coach-house,” asked Betty, 
mquiringly. 

“It’s a little carriage,” and Ben rolled in the grass, 
much tickled at poor Betty’s ignorance. 

“ Of course it is. I looked it out in the die., and you 
mustn’t call it a payton^ though it is spelt with a p,” 
added Bab, who Mked to lay down the law on all occa¬ 
sions, and did not mention that she had looked vainly 
among the f’s till a school-mate set her right. 

“You can’t tell me much about carriages. But wha^ 
I want to know is where Lita will stay ? ” said Ben. 

“Oh, she’s to be up at the Squii'e’s till things are 
fixed, and you are to bring her down. Squire came and 
told Ma all about it, and said you were a boy to be 
trusted, for he had tried you.” 

Ben made no answer, but secretly thanked his stars 





62 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


that he had not proved himself untrustworthy by run¬ 
ning away, and so missing all this fun. 

“Won’t it be fine to have the house open all the time? 
We can run over and see the pictures and books when¬ 
ever we like. I know we can, Miss Celia is so kind,” 
began Betty, who cared for these things more than for 
screaming peacocks and comical donkeys. 

“Not unless you are invited,” answered their 
mother, locking the front door behind her. “You ’d 
better begin to pick up your duds right away, for she 
won’t want them cluttering round her front yard. If 
you are not too tired, Ben, you might rake round a 
little while I shut the blinds. I want things to look 
nice and tidy.” 

Two little groans went up from two afflicted little 
girls as they looked about them at the shady bower, 
the dear porch, and the wdnding walks where they 
loved to run “till their hair whistled in the wind,” as 
the fairy-books say. 

“Whatever shall we do! Our attic is so bot and 
the shed so small, and the yard always full of hens 
or clothes. We shall have to pack all our things 
away, and never play any more,” said Bab, tragically. 

“May be Ben could build us a little house in the 
orchard,” proposed Betty, who firmly believed that 
Ben could do any thing. 

“He won’t have any time. Boys don’t care for 
baby-houses,” returned Bab, collecting her homeless 
goods and chattels with a dismal face. 

“We sha’n’t want these much w^hen all the new 
things come; see if we do,” said cheerful little Betty, 
who always found out a silver lining to every cloud. 


CHAPTER Vin. 


MISS CELIACS MAN, 

B en wan not too tked, and the clearing-up ocgan 
that very night. None too soon, for in a day or 
two things arrived, to the great delight of the children, 
who considered moving a most interesting play. First 
came the phaeton, which Ben spent all his leisure mo¬ 
ments in admiring; wondering with secret envy what 
happy boy would ride in the little seat up behind, and 
beguiling his tasks by planning howf when he got rich, 
he would pass his time driving about in just such an 
equipage, and inviting all the boys he met to have a 
ride. 

Then a load of furniture came creaking in at the 
lodge gate, and the girls had raptures over a cottage 
piano, several small chairs, and a little low table, which 
they pronounced just the thing for them to play at. 
The live stock appeared next, creating a great stir in 
the neighborhood, for peacocks were rare birds there; 
the donkey’s bray startled the cattle and convulsed the 
people with laughter; the rabbits were continually get¬ 
ting out to burrow in the newly made garden; and 
Chevalita scandalized old Duke by dancing about the 
stable wnich he had inhabited for years in stately 
solitude. 





64 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


Last but by no means least, Miss Celia, her young 
brother, and two maids arrived one evening so late that 
only Mrs. Moss went over to help them settle. The 
children were much disappointed, but were appeased by 
a promise that they should all go to pay their respects 
n the morning. 

They were up so early, and were so impatient to be 
off, that Mrs. Moss let them go with the warning that 
they would find only the servants astir. She was mis¬ 
taken, however, for, as the procession approached, a 
voice from the porch called out, “ Good-moming, 
little neighbors! ” so unexpectedly, that Bab nearly 
spilt the new milk she carried, Betty gave such a start 
that the fresh-laid eggs quite skipped in the dish, and 
Ben’s face broke into a broad grin over the armful of 
clover which he brought for the bunnies, as he bobbed 
his head, saying briskly, — 

“ She’s all right, miss, Lita is; and I can bring her 
over any minute you say.” 

“ I shall want her at four o’clock. Thorny will be 
too tired to drive, but I must hear from the post-office, 
rain or shine; ” and Miss Celia’s pretty color brightened 
as she spoke, either from some happy thought or because 
she was bashful, for the honest young faces before her 
plainly showed their admiration of the white-gowned 
lady under the honeysuckles. 

The appearance of Miranda, the maid, reminded the 
children of their errand; and, having delivered their 
offerings, they were about to retire in some confusion, 
when Miss Celia said pleasantly, — 

“ I want to thank you for helping put things in such 
nice order. I see signs of busy hands and feet both 




MISS CELIACS MAN. 


65 


inside the house and all about the grounds, and I am 
very much obliged.” 

“ I raked the beds,” said Ben, proudly eying the neat 
ovals and circles. 

“ I swept all the paths,” added Bab, with a reproach 
fill glance at several green sprigs fallen from the load 
of clover on the smooth walk. 

“ I cleared up the porch,” and Betty’s clean pinafore 
rose and fell with a long sigh, as she surveyed the late 
summer residence of her exiled family. 

Miss Celia guessed the meaning of that sigh, and 
made haste to turn it into a smile by asking anx¬ 
iously, — 

“ What/ias become of the playthings? I don’t see 
them an}^here.” 

“Ma said you wouldn’t want our duds round, so 
we took them all home,” answered Betty, with a wistful 
face. 

“But I do want them round. I like dolls and toys 
almost as much as ever, and quite miss the little 
‘ duds ’ from porch and path. Suppose you come to 
tea with me to-night and bring some of them back ? I 
should be very sorry to rob you of your pleasant play- 
place.” 

“Oh, yes,’m, we’d love to come! and we’ll bring 
our best things.” 

“Ma always lets us have our shiny pitchers and the 
china poodle when we go visiting or have company at 
home,” said Bab and Betty, both speaking at once. 

“ Bring what you like, and I ’ll hunt up my toys, too. 
Ben is to come also, and Ms poodle is especially in¬ 
vited,” added Miss Celia, as Sancho came and begged 

B 






0*6 


UNDER TEE LILACS, 


before her, feeling that some agreeable project was 
under discussion. 

“Thank you, miss. I told them youM be willing 
they should come sometimes. They like this place ever 
so much, and so do I,” said Ben, feeling that few spots 
combined so many advantages in the wa}^ of climbable 
trees, arched gates, half-a-dozen gables, and other 
charms suited to the taste of an aspiring youth who 
had been a fl3ing Cupid at the age of seven. 

“ So do I,” echoed Miss Celia, heartily. “ Ten years 
ago I came here a little girl, and made lilac chains 
under these very bushes, and picked chickweed over 
there for mj" bird, and rode Thorny in his baby-wagon 
up and down these paths. Grandpa lived here then, 
and we had fine times ; but now they are all gone except 
us two.” 

“We haven’t got any father, either,” said Bab, for 
something in Miss Celia’s face made her feel as if a 
cloud had come over the sun. 

“ I have a first-rate father, if I only knew where 
he’d gone to,” said Ben, looking down the path as 
eagerly as if some one waited for him behind the locked 
gate. 

“ You are a rich boy, and you are happ;^ little girls 
to have so good a mother ; I’ve found that out already,” 
and the sun shone again as the 3'Oung lady nodded tc 
the neat, rosy children before her. 

“ You may have a piece of her if 3’ou want to, ’cause 
you haven’t got any of 3^our own,” said Betty, with a 
pitiful look which made her blue e3"es as sweet as two 
wet violets. 

“ So I will! and you shaU be my little sisters. I 


MISS CELIACS MAN. 


67 


never had any, and I’d love to try how it seems ; ” and 
Miss Celia took both the chubby hands in hers, feeling 
ready to love every one this first bright morning in 
the new home, which she hoped to make a very happy 

one. 

Bab gave a satisfied nod, and fell to examining the 
rings upon the white hand that held her own. But 
Betty put her arms about the new friend’s neck, and 
kissed her so softly that the hungry feeling in Miss 
Celia’s heart felt better directly; for this was the food 
it wanted, and Thorny had not learned yet to return 
one half of the affection he received. Holding the 
child close, she played with the yellow braids while she 
told them about the little German girls in their funny 
black-silk caps, short-waisted gowns, and wooden shoes, 
whom she used to see watering long webs of linen 
bleaching on the grass, watching great flocks of geese, 
or driving pigs to market, knitting or spinning as they 
went. 

Presently “Banda,” as she called her stout maid, 
came to tell her that “Master Thorny couldn’t wait 
another minute ; ” and she went in to breakfast with a 
good appetite, while the children raced home to bounce 
in upon Mrs. Moss, talking all at once like little 
lunatics. 

“ The phaeton at four, — so sweet in a beautiful white 
gown, — going to tea, and Sancho and all the baby 
things invited. Can’t we wear our Sunday frocks ? A 
splendid new net for Lita. And she likes dolls. Goody, 
goody, won’t it be fun! ” 

With much difficulty their mother got a clear account 
of the approaching festivity out of the eager mouths. 







68 


UNDER THE LlLACb. 


and with still more difficulty got breakfast into them^ 
for the children had few pleasures, and this brilliant 
prospect rather turned their heads. 

Bab and Betty thought the day would never end, and 
cheered the long hours by expatiating on the pleasures 
in store for them, till their plajTnates were much af¬ 
flicted because they were not going also. At noon theii 
mother kept them from running over to the old house 
lest they should be in the way; so they consoled them 
selves by going to the sjuinga bush at the comer and 
sniffing the savory odors which came from the kitchen, 
where Katy, the cook, was evidently making nice things 
for tea. 

Ben worked as if for a wager till four; then stood 
over Pat while he curried Lita till her coat shone like 
satin, then drove her gently down to the coach-house, 
where he had the satisfaction of harnessing her “ all 
his own self.” 

“ Shall I go round to the great gate and wait for you 
there, miss? ” he asked, when all was ready, looking up 
at the porch, where the young lady stood watching him 
as she put on her gloves. 

“No, Ben, the great gate is not to be opened till 
next October. I shall go in and out by the lodge, and 
leave the avenue to grass and dandelions, meantime,” 
answered Miss Celia, as she stepped in and took the 
reins, with a sudden smile. 

But she did not start, even when Ben had shaken 
out the new duster and laid it neatly over her knees. 

“ Isn’t it all right now?” asked the boy, anxiously. 

“Not quite ; I need one thing more. Can’t 3^ou guess 
what it is ? ” — and Miss Celia watched his anxious face 



MISS CELIACS MAN. 


(59 


as his eyes wandered from the tips of Lita’s ears to the 
hind-wheel of the phaeton, trying to discover what had 
been omitted. 

“ No, miss, I don’t see — ” he began, much mortified 
to think he had forgotten any thing. 

“ Wouldn’t a little groom up behind improve the ap¬ 
pearance of my turnout ? ” she said, with a look which 
left no doubt in his mind that he was to be the happy 
boy to occupy that proud perch. 

He gi’ew red with pleasure, but stammered, as he 
nesitated, looking down at his bare feet and blue 
shii’t, — 

I ain’t fit, miss; and I have n’t got any other 
clothes.” 

Miss Celia only smiled again more kindly than before, 
and answered, in a tone which he understood better than 
her words, — 

A great man said his coat-of-arms was a pair of 
shirt-sleeves, and a sweet poet sung about a barefooted 
boy ; so I need not be too proud to ride with one. Up 
with you, Ben, my man, and let us be off, or we shall 
be late for our party.” 

With one bound the new groom was in his place, 
sitting very erect, with his legs stiff, arms folded, and 
nose in the air, as he had seen real grooms sit behind 
their masters in fine dog-carts or carriages. Mrs. Moss 
nodded as they drove past the lodge, and Ben touched 
his torn hat-brim in the most dignified manner, though 
he could not suppress a broad grin of delight, which 
deepened into a chuckle when Lita went off at a brisk 
trot along the smooth i-oad toward town. 

It takes so little to make a child happj^ it is a pity 






70 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


grown people do not oftener remember it and scattei 
little bits of pleasure before the small people, as they 
throw crumbs to the hungry sparrows. Miss Ceha knew 
the boy was pleased, but he had no words in which to 
express his gratitude for the great contentment she had 
given him. He could only beam at all he met, smile 
when the floating ends of the gray veil blew against his 
face, and long in his heart to give the new friend a 
boyish hug, as he used to do his dear 'Melia when she 
was very good to him. 

School was just out as they passed; and it was a 
spectacle, I assure you, to see the boys and girls stare 
at Ben up aloft in such state; also to see the superb 
indifference with which that young man regarded the 
vulgar herd who went afoot. He could not resist an 
affable nod to Bab and Betty, for they stood under the 
maple-tree, and the memory of their circulating library 
made him forget his dignity in his gratitude. 

“We will take them next time, but now I want to 
talk to you,” began Miss Celia, as Lita climbed the 
hill. “My brother has been ill, and I have brought 
him here to get well. I want to do all sorts of things 
to amuse him, and I think you can help me in many 
ways. Would you like to work for me instead of the 
Squire?” 

“ I guess I would! ” ejaculated Ben, so heartily that 
no further assurances were needed, and Miss Celia went 
on, weU pleased: — 

“You see, poor Thorny is weak and fretful, and does 
not like to exert himself, though he ought to be out a 
great deal, and kept from thinking of his little troubles. 
He cannot walk much yet, so I have a wheeled chaii 




MISS CELIACS MAN. 


71 


to.push hira in; and the paths are so hard, it will be 
easy to roll him about. That will be one thing you 
can do. Another is to take care of his pets till he is 
able to do it himself. Then you can tell him youl 
adventures, and talk to him as only a boy can talk to 
a boy. That will amuse him when I want to write or 
go out; but I never leave him long, and hope he will 
soon be running about as well as the rest of us. How 
does that sort of work look to you ? ” 

“First-rate! IT take real good care of the little 
feller, and do every thing I know to please him, and so 
wiU Sanch; he’s fond of children,” answered Ben, 
heartily, for the new place looked very inviting to him. 

Miss Celia laughed, and rather damped his ardor 
by her next words. 

“I don’t know what Thorny would say to hear you 
caU him ‘ little.’ He is fourteen, and appears to get 
taller and taller every day. He seems like a child to 
me, because I am nearly ten years older than he is ; but 
you needn’t be afraid of his long legs and big eyes, — 
he is too feeble to do any harm; only you mustn’t 
mind if he orders you about.” 

“I’m used to that. I don’t mind it if he won’t call 
me a ‘ spalpeen,’ and fire things at me,” said Ben, 
thinking of his late trials with Pat. 

“ I can promise that; and I am sure Thorny will like 
you, for I told him your story, and he is anxious to see 
‘ the circus boy,’ as he called you. Squire Allen says 
I may trust you, and I am glad to do so, for it saves 
me much trouble to find what I want all ready for me. 
You shall be well fed and clothed, kindly treated and 
honestly paid, if you like to stay with me.” 








72 


UNDER THE LILACb. 


“ 1 know I shall like it — till father comes, anyway. 
Squire wrote to Smithers right off, but hasn’t got any 
answer yet. I know they are on the go now, so may 
be we won’t hear for ever so long,’* answered Ben, 
feeling less impatient to be off than before this fine 
proposal was made to him. 

“ I dare say; meantime, we will see how we get on 
together, and perhaps your father will be willing to leave 
you for the summer if he is away. Now show me 
the baker’s, the candy-shop, and the post-office,” said 
Miss Celia, as they rattled down the main street of the 
village. 

Ben made himself useful; and when all the other 
en’ands were done, received his reward in the shape of 
a new pair of shoes and a straw hat with a streaming 
blue ribbon, on the ends of which shone silvery anchors. 
He was also allowed to drive home, while his new mistress 
read her letters. One particular!}" long one. with a queer 
stamp on the envelope, she read twice, never speaking 
a word till they got back. Then Ben was sent off with 
Lita and the Squire’s letters, promising to get his chores 
done in time for tea. 



CHAPTER IX. 


A HAPPY TEA. 

T^XACTLY five minutes before six the party amved 
^ in great state, for Bab and Betty wore their best 
frocks and hair-ribbons, Ben had a new blue shirt and 
his shoes on as full-dress, and Sancho’s curls were nicely 
brushed, his frills as white as if just done up. 

No one was visible to receive them, but the low table 
stood in the middle of the walk, with four chairs and a 
foot-stool around it. A pretty set of green and white 
china caused the girls to cast admiring looks upon the 
little cups and plates, while Ben eyed the feast long¬ 
ingly, and Sancho with difficulty restrained himself from 
repeating his former naughtiness. No wonder the dog 
sniffed and the children smiled, for there was a noble 
display of fittle tarts and cakes, little biscuits and sand¬ 
wiches, a pretty milk-pitcher shaped like a white calla 
rising out of its green leaves, and a jolly little tea 
kettle singing away over the spirit-lamp as cosily as 
you please. 

“Isn’t it perfectly lovely?” whispered Betty, who 
had never seen any thing like it before. 

“ I just wish Sally could see us now,'' answered Bab, 
who had not yet forgiven her enemy. 

“Wonier where the boy is,” added Ben, feeling m 
4 



74 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


good as any one, but rather doubtful how others might 
regard him. 

Here a rumbling sound caused the guests to look 
toward the garden, and in a moment Miss Celia ap¬ 
peared, pushing a wheeled chair, in which sat her 
brother. A gay afghan covered the long legs, a broad- 
brimmed hat half hid the big eyes, and a discontented 
expression made the thin face as unattractive as the 
fretful voice, which said, complainingly, — 

“ K they make a noise, I ’ll go in. Don’t see what 
you asked them for.” 

“ To amuse you, dear. I know they will, if you wiD 
only try to like them,” whispered the sister, smiling and 
nodding over the chair-back as she came on, adding 
aloud, “ Such a punctual party! I am all ready, how¬ 
ever, and we will sit down at once. This is my brother 
Thornton, and we are all going to be very good friends 
by-and-by. Here’s the droll dog. Thorny; isn’t he nice 
and cm’ly?” 

Now, Ben had heard what the other boy said, and 
made up his mind that he shouldn’t like him ; and Thorny 
had decided beforehand that he wouldn’t play with a 
tramp, even if he could cut capers; so both looked 
decidedly cool and indifferent when Miss Celia intro¬ 
duced them. But Sancho had better manners, and no 
foolish pride; he, therefore, set them a good example 
by approaching the chair, with his tail waving like a 
flag of truce, and politely presented his ruffled paw for 
a hearty shake. 

Thorny could not resist that appeal, and patted the 
white head, with a friendly look into the affectionate eyes 
of the dog, saying to his sister as he did so, — 


A HAPPY TEA. 


76 


W'hat a wise old feUow he is I It seems as if he 
could almost speak, doesn’t it?” 

“ He can. Say ‘ How do you do,’ Sanch,” commanded 
Ben, relenting at once, for he saw admu'ation in Thorny’s 
face. 

“Wow, wow, wow!” remarked Sancho, in a mild 
and conversational tone, sitting up and touching one 
paw to his head, as if he saluted by taking off his 
hat. 

Thorny laughed in spite of himself, and Miss Celia, 
seeing that the ice was broken, wheeled him to his place 
at the foot of the table. Then, seating the little girls 
on one side, Ben and the dog on the other, took the 
uead herself and told her guests to begin. 

Bab and Betty were soon chattering away to their 
pleasant hostess as freely as if they had known her for 
months; but the boys were still rather shy, and made 
Sancho the medium through which they addressed one 
another. The excellent beast behaved with wonderful 
propriety, sitting upon his cushion in an attitude of 
such dignity that it seemed almost a liberty to offer 
him food. A dish of thick sandwiches had been pro¬ 
vided for his especial refreshment; and, as Ben ffom 
time to time laid one on his plate, he affected entire 
unconsciousness of it till the word was given, when it 
vanished at one gulp, and Sancho again appeared al> 
sorbed in deep thought. 

But, having once tasted of this pleasing dehcacy, it 
was very hard to repress his longing for more; and, in 
spite of aU his efforts, his nose would work, his eye kept 
a keen watch upon that particular dish, and his tail 
quivered with excitement as it lay like a train over the 







re 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


Fed cushion. At last, a moment came when temptation 
proved too strong for him. Ben was listening to some¬ 
thing Miss Celia said; a tart lay unguarded upon his 
plate ; Sanch looked at Thorny, who was watching him; 
Thorny nodded, Sanch gave one wink, bolted the tart, 
and then gazed pensively up at a sparrow swinging on 
a twig overhead. 

The slyness of the rascal tickled the boy so much that 
he pushed back his hat, clapped his hands, and bm'st 
out laughing as he had not done before for weeks. 
Every one looked round surprised, and Sancho regarded 
them with a mildly inquiring air, as if he said, “ Why 
this unseemly mu*th, my friends ? ” 

Thorny forgot both sulks and shyness after that, and 
suddenly began to talk. Ben was flattered by his in¬ 
terest in the dear dog, and opened out so delightfully 
that he soon charmed the other by his lively tales of 
circus-life. Then Miss Celia felt relieved, and every 
thing went splendidly, especially the food; for the plates 
were emptied several times, the little tea-pot ran dry 
twice, and the hostess was just wondering if she ought 
to stop her voracious guests, when something occurred 
which spared her that painful task. 

A small boy was suddenly discovered standing in the 
path behind them, regarding the company with an air 
of solemn interest. A pretty, well-dressed child of six, 
with dark hair cut short across the brow, a rosy face, a 
stout pair of legs, left bare by the socks which had 
slipped down over the dusty little shoes. One end of a 
wide sash trailed behind him, a straw hat hung at his 
back, while his right hand firmly grasped a small turtle, 
and his left a choice collection of sticks. Before Miss 


A HAPPY TEA. 


77 


Celia could speak, the stranger calmlj announced his 
mission. 

“ I have come to see the peacocks.” 

“You shall presently — ” began Miss Celia, but 
got no further, for the child added, coming a step 
nearer, — 

“ And the wabbits.” 

“ Yes, but first won’t you — ” 

“And the curly dog,” continued the small voice, 
as another step brought the resolute young personage 
nearer. 

“ There he is.” 

A pause, a long look; then a new demand with the 
same solemn tone, the same advance. 

“ I wish to hear the donkey bray.” 

“ Certainly, if he will.” 

“ And the peacocks scream.” 

“Any thing more, sir?” 

Having reached the table by this time, the insatiable 
infant survej^ed its ravaged surface, then pointed a fat 
little finger at the last cake, left for manners, and said, 
commandingly, — 

“ I will have some of that.” 

“ Help yourself; and sit upon the step to eat it, while 
you tell me whose boy you are,” said Miss Celia, much 
amused at his proceedings. 

Deliberate!}^ putting down his sticks, the child took 
tlie cake, and, composing himself upon the step, an¬ 
swered with his rosy mouth full,— 

“ I am papa’s boy. He makes a paper. I help him 
a great deal.” 

“ What is his name?” 








78 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


“ Mr. Bailow. We live in Springfield,” volunteered 
the new guest, unbending a trifle, thanks to the charms 
of the cake. 

“ Have 3"0u a mamma, dear?” 

“ She takes naps. I go to walk then.” 

“Without leave, I suspect. Have you no brothers 
or sisters to go with you? ” asked Miss Celia, wondering 
where the little runaway belonged. 

“I have two brothers, — Thomas Merton Barlow and 
Harry Sanford Barlow. I am Alfred Tenn^^son Barlow. 
We don’t have any girls in our house, only Bridget.” 

“ Don’t 3"Ou go to school?” 

“ The boys do. I don’t learn any Greeks and Latins 
yet. I dig, and read to mamma, and make poetrys for 
her.” 

“Couldn’t you make some for me? I’m very fond 
of poetr3’s,” proposed Miss Celia, seeing that this prattle 
amused the children. 

“I guess I couldn’t make any now; I made some 
coming along. I will say it to you.” 

And, crossing his short legs, the inspired babe half 
said, half sung the following poem; ^ — 

** Sweet are the flowers of life, 

Swept o’er my happy days at home; 

Sweet are the flowers of life 
When I was a little child. 

■* Sweet are the flowers of life 
That I spent with my father at home; 

Sweet are the flowers of life 

When children played about the house. 


1 These lines were actually composed by a six-year old child. 




A HAPPY TEA. 


79 


** Sweet are the flowers of life 
When the lamjs are lighted at night 
Sweet are the flowers of life 
When the flowers of summer bloonaed- 

“ Sweet are the flowers of life 
Dead with the snows of winter; 

Sweet are the flowers of life 
When the days of spring come on. 

“ That s all of that one. I made another one when 
I digged after the turtle. I will say that. It is a 
very pretty one,” observed the poet with charming 
candor; and, taking a long breath, he tuned his little 
lyi'e afresh: — 

Sweet, sweet days are passing 

O’er my happy home, 

Passing on swift wings through the valley of life. 

Cold are the days when winter comes again. 

When my sweet days were passing at my happy home, 

Sweet were the days on the rivulet’s green brink; 

Sweet were the days when I read my father’s books; 

Sweet were the winter days when bright fires are blazing.” 

“Bless the baby! where did he get all that?” ex¬ 
claimed Miss Celia, amazed ; while the children giggled 
as Tennyson, Jr., took a bite at the turtle instead of the 
half-eaten cake, and then, to prevent further mistakes, 
crammed the unhappy creature into a diminutive pocket 
in the most business-like way imaginable. 

“ It comes out of my head. I make lots of them,” 
began the imperturbable one, yielding more and more to 
the social influences of the hour. 

“Here are the peacocks coming to be fed,” inter 



80 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


rupted Bab, as the handsome birds appeared with theii 
splendid plumage glittering in the sun. 

Young Barlow rose to admire; but his thirst for 
knowledge was not yet quenched, and he was about to 
request a song from Juno and Jupiter, when old Jack, 
pining for society, put his head over the garden wall 
with a tremendous bray. 

This unexpected sound startled the inquiring stranger 
half out of his wits; for a moment the stout legs stag¬ 
gered and the solemn countenance lost its composure, 
as he whispered, with an astonished air, — 

“Is that the way peacocks scream?” 

The children were in fits of laughter, and Miss 
Ceha could hardly make herself heard as she answered, 
merrily, — 

“ No, dear; that is the donkey asking you to come 
and see him; will you go ? ” 

“ I guess I couldn’t stop now. Mamma might want 
me.” 

And, without another word, the discomfited poet 
precipitately retired, leaving his cherished sticks behind 
him. 

Ben ran after the child to see that he came to no 
harm, and presently returned to report that Alfred had 
been met by a servant, and gone away chanting a new 
rerse of his poem, in which peacocks, donkeys, and 
“ the flowers of life” were sweetly mingled. 

“Now I’U show you my toys, and we’U have a little 
play before it gets too late for Thorny to stay with us,” 
said Miss Celia, as Banda carried away the tea-things 
and brought back a large tray fuU of picture-books, 
dissected maps, puzzles, games, and several prettj 


A HAPPY TEA. 


81 


models of animals, the whole crowned with a large 
doll dressed as a baby. 

At sight of that, Betty stretched out her arms to 
receive it with a cry of delight. Bab seized the games, 
and Ben was lost in admiration of the httle Arab chief 
prancing on the white horse, “ all saddled and bridlet 
and fit for the fight.” Thorny poked about to find a 
certain curious puzzle which he could put together with 
out a mistake after long study. Even Sancho foun^ 
something to interest him ; and, standing on his hind 
legs, thrust his head between the boj^s to paw at severa 
red and blue letters on square blocks. 

“ He looks as if he knew them,” said Thorny, 
amused at the dog’s eager whine and scratch. 

“ He does. Spell your name, Sanch; ” and Ben put all 
the gay letters down upon the flags with a chirrup which 
set the dog’s tail to wagging as he waited till the alphabet 
was spread before him. Then, with great deliberation, 
he pushed the letters about till he had picked out six; 
these he arranged with nose and paw till the word 
“Sancho” lay before him correctly spelt. 

“Isn’t that clever? Can he do any more?” cried 
Thorny, delighted. 

“Lots; that’s the way he gets his livin’, and mine 
too,” answered Ben ; and proudly put his poodle through 
his well-learned lessons with such success that even Miss 
Celia was sui’prised. 

“ He has been carefully trained. Do you know hoTV 
it was done?” she asked, when Sancho lay down to rest 
and be caressed by the children. 

“ No, ’m, father did it when I was a little chap, and 
never told me how. I used to help teach him to dance. 

4* 


F 




82 


UNDER TEE LILACS. 


and that was easy enough, he is so smart. Father said 
the middle of the night was the best time to give him 
his lessons; it was so still then, and nothing disturbed 
Sanch and made him forget. I can’t do half the tricks, 
but I’m goin’ to learn when father comes back. He’d 
rather have me show off Sanch than ride, till I’m 
older.” 

“ I have a charming book about animals, and in it an 
interesting account of some trained poodles who could 
do the most wonderful things. Would you like to hear 
it while you put your maps and puzzles together?” 
asked Miss Celia, glad to keep her brother interested 
in their four-footed guest at least. 

“Yes,’m, yes,’m,” answered the children; and, 
fetching the book, she read the pretty account, short¬ 
ening and simplifying it here and there to suit her 
hearers. 

“‘I invited the two dogs to dine and spend the 
evening; and they came with their master, who was a 
Frenchman. He had been a teacher in a deaf and dumb 
school, and thought he would try the same plan with 
dogs. He had also been a conjurer, and now was sup¬ 
ported by Blanche and her daughter Lj^da. These dogs 
oehaved at dinner just like other dogs ; but, when I gave 
Blanche a bit of cheese and asked if she knew the word 
for it, her master said she could spell it. So a table was 
arranged with a lamp on it, and round the table were 
laid the letters of the alphabet painted on cards. Blanche 
sat in the middle, waiting till her master told her to spell 
cheese, which she at once did in French,— from age. 
Then she translated a word for us very cleverly. Some 
one wrote pferd., the German for horse, On a slate. 



A HAPPY TEA. 


83 


Blanche looked at it and pretended to read it, putting 
by the slate with her paw when she had done. “Now 
give us the French for that word,” said the man; and 
she instantly brought cheval. “Now, as you are 
at an Englishman’s house, give it to us in English;'' 
and she brought me horse. Then we spelt some 
words wrong, and she corrected them with wonderful 
accuracy. But she did not seem to like it, and whined 
and growled and looked so worried, that she was allowed 
to go and rest and eat cakes in a corner. 

“ ‘ Then L^^da took her place on the table, and did 
sums on the slate with a set of figures. Also mental 
arithmetic, which was very pretty. “Now, Lyda,” 
said her master, “I want to see if you understand 
division. Suppose you had ten bits of sugar, and you 
met ten Prussian dogs, how many lumps would you, a 
French dog, give to each of the Prussians ? ” Lyda very 
decidedly replied to this with a cipher. “ But, suppose 
you divided your sugar with me, how many lumps would 
you give me ? ” Lyda took up the figure five and pohtely 
presented it to her master.’ ” 

“Wasn’t she smart? Sanch can’t do that,” ex* 
claimed Ben, forced to own that the French doggie 
beat his cherished pet. 

“He is not too old to learn. Shall I go on?” 
asked Miss Celia, seeing that the boys liked it, though 
Betty was absorbed with the doll, and Bab deep in a 
puzzle. 

“ Oh, yes ! What else did they do ? ” 

“ ‘ They pla^^ed a game of dominoes together, sitting 
in chairs opposite each other, and touched the dominoes 
that were wanted; but the man placed them and kept 







84 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


telling how the game went. Lyda was beaten, and hid 
under the sofa, evidently feeling very badly about it. 
Blanche was then surrounded with playing-cards, while 
her master held another pack and told us to choose a 
card; then he asked her what one had been chosen, 
and she always took up the right one in her teeth. I 
was asked to go into another room, put a light on the 
floor with cards round it, and leave the doors nearly 
shut. Then the man begged some one to whisper in 
the dog’s ear what card she was to bring, and she 
went at once and fetched it, thus showing that she 
understood their names. Lyda did many tricks with 
the numbers, so ciuious that no dog could possibly 
understand them; yet what the secret sign was I could 
not discover, but suppose .t must have been in the tones 
of the master’s voice, for he certainly made none with 
either head or hands.’ 

“It took an hour a day for eighteen months to 
educate a dog enough to appear in public, and (as 
you say, Ben) the night was the best time to give the 
lessons. Soon after this visit, the master died; and 
these wonderful dogs were sold because their mistress 
did not know how to exhibit them.” 

“ Wouldn’t I have liked to see ’em and find out how 
they were taught! Sanch, you ’U have to study up lively, 
for I’m not going to have you beaten by French dogs,” 
said Ben, shaking his finger so sternly that Sancho 
grovelled at his feet and put both paws over his eyes 
in the most abject manner. 

“ Is there a picture of those smart little poodles? ' 
asked Ben, eying the book, which Miss Celia left open 
before her. 



A HAPPY TEA. 


86 


“ Not of them, but of other interesting creatures; 
also anecdotes about horses, which will please you, I 
know,” and she turned the pages for him, neither guess¬ 
ing how much good Mr. Ilamerton’s charming ‘‘ Chapters 
on Animals ” were to do the boy when he needed com¬ 
fort for a sorrow which was verv near. 



CHAPTER X. 


A HEAVY TROUBLE, 

HANK you, ma’am, that’s a tip-top book, 



’specially the pictures. But I can’t bear to 
see these poor fellows; ” and Ben brooded over the 
fine etching of the dead and d^dng horses on a battle¬ 
field, one past all further pain, the other helpless, but 
lifting his head from his dead master to neigh a farewell 
to the comrades who go galloping away in a cloud of 


dust. 


“ They ought to stop for him, some of ’em,” muttered 
Ben, hastily turning back to the cheerful picture of 
the three happy horses in the field, standing knee-deep 
among the grass as they prepare to drink at the wide 
stream. 

“ Ain’t that black one a beauty? Seems as if I could 
see his mane blow in the wind, and hear him whinny to 
that small feller trotting down to see if he can’t get 
over and be sociable. How I’d like to take a rousin’ 
run round that meadow on the whole lot of ’em! ” and 
Ben swayed about in his chair as if he was already 
doing it in imagination. 

“You may take a turn round my field on Lita any 
day. She would like it, and Thorny’s saddle will be 



A HEAVY TROUBLE. 


87 


here next week,” said Miss Celia, pleased to see that 
the boy appreciated the fine pictures, and felt such 
hearty sympathy with the noble animals whom she 
dearly loved herself. 

“Needn’t wait for that. I’d rather ride bare-back. 
Oh, I say, is this the book you told about, where the 
horses talked?” asked Ben, suddenly recollecting the 
speech he had puzzled over ever since he heard it. 

“No; I brought the book, but in the hurry of my 
tea-party forgot to unpack it. I ’ll hunt it up to-night. 
Remind me. Thorny.” 

“ There, now, I’ve forgotten something, too! Squire 
sent you a letter; and I’m having such a jolly time, I 
never thought of it.” 

Ben rummaged out the note with remorseful haste, 
protesting that he was in no hmuy for Mr. Gulliver, and 
very glad to save him for another day. 

Leaving the young folks busy with their games. Miss 
Celia sat in the porch to read her letters, for there were 
two; and as she read her face gi’ew so sober, then so 
sad, that if any one had been looking he would have 
wondered what bad news had chased away the sunshine 
so suddenly. No one did look; no one saw how pitifully 
her eyes rested on Ben’s happy face when the letters 
were put away,, and no one minded the new gentleness 
in her manner as she came back to the table. But Ben 
thought there never was so sweet a lady as the one who 
leaned over him to show him how the dissected map 
went together, and never smiled at his mistakes. 

So kind, so very kind was she to them all, that when, 
after an hour of merry play, she took her brother in 
to bed, the three who remained 'ell to praising her 







88 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


entliusiastically as they put things to rights before tak¬ 
ing leave. 

“She’s like the good fairies in the books, and has 
all sorts of nice, pretty things in her house,” said 
Betty, enjojing a last hug of the fascinating doll whose 
lids would shut so that it was a pleasure to sing, “ Bye, 
sweet baby, bye,” with no staring eyes to spoil the 
illusion. 

“ What heaps she knows I More than Teacher, I do 
believe ; and she doesn’t mind how many questions we 
ask. I like folios that will tell me things,” added Bab, 
whose inquisitive mind was always hungry. 

“ I like that boy first-rate, and I guess he likes me, 
though I didn’t know where Nantucket ought to go. 
He wants mo to teach him to ride when he’s on his 
pins again, and Miss Ceha says I may. She knows how 
to make folks feel good, don’t she? ” and Ben gratefully 
Bui’veyed the Arab chief, now his own, though the best 
of all the collection. 

“Won’t we have splendid times? She says we 
may come over every night and play with her and 
Thorny.” 

“ And she’s going to have the seats in the porch hft 
up, so we can put our things in there all dry, and have 
’em hand}^” 

“ And I’m going to be her boy, and stay here all the 
time. I guess the letter I brought was a recommend 
from the Squire.”, 

“Yes, Ben; and if I had not already made up my 
mind to keep j^ou before, I certainly would now, my 
boy.” 

Something in Miss Celia’s voice, as she said the last 



A HEAVY TROUBLE, 


89 


two words with her hand on Ben’s shoulder, made him 
look up quickly and turn red with pleasure, wondering 
what the Squire had written about him. 

“Mother must have some of the ‘party;’ so you 
shall take her these, Bab, and Betty may carry Baby 
home for the night. She is so nicely asleep, it is a pity 
to wake her. Good-by till to-morrow, little neighbors,” 
continued Miss Celia, and dismissed the girls with a 
kiss. 

“ Isn’t Ben coming, too? ” asked Bab, as Betty trotted 
off in a silent rapture with the big darling bobbing over 
her shoulder. 

“Not yet; 1 ’ve several things to settle with my new 
man. Tell mother he will come by-and-by.” 

Off rushed Bab with the plateful of goodies; and, 
drawing Ben down beside her on the wide step. Miss 
Celia took out the letters, with a shadow creeping over 
her face as softly as the twilight was stealing over the 
world, while the dew feU, and every thing grew still and 
dim. 

“Ben, dear, I’ve something to tell you,” she began, 
slowly; and the boy waited with a happy ffice, for no 
one had called him so since ’Melia died. 

“ The Squire has heard about your father, and this 
U the letter Mr. Smithers sends.” 

“Hooray I where is he, please?” cried Ben, wishing 
she would hurry up; for Miss Celia did not even offer 
him the letter, but sat looking down at Sancho on the 
lower step, as if she wanted him to come and help her. 

“ He went after the mustangs, and sent some home, 
but could not come himself.” 

‘ Went further on, I s’pose. Yes, he said he might 



UNDER TEE LILACS. 


yo 

go as far as California, and if he did he'd send for me. 

T’d like to go there; it’s a real splendid place, thejf 
say.” 

“He has gone fui’ther away than that, to a lovelier 
country than California, I hope.” And Miss Ceha’a 
eyes tui-ned to the deep sky, where early stars were 
ahining. 

‘ ‘ Didn’t.hie send for me ? Where’s he gone ? MTien ’a 
he coming back ? ” asked Ben, quickly; for there was a 
quiver in her voice, the meaning of which he felt before 
he understood. 

Miss Celia put her arms about him, and answered 
very tenderly,— 

“Ben, dear, if I were to tell you that he was never 
coming back, could you bear it ? ” 

“I guess I could, — but you don’t mean it? Oh, 
ma’am, he isn’t dead?” cried Ben, with a cry that made 
her heart ache, and Sancho leap up with a bark. 

“My poor little boy, I wish I could say no.” 

There was no need of any more words, no need 
of tears or kind arms around him. He knew he was 
an orphan now, and turned instinctively to the old 
fiiend who loved him best. Throwing himself down 
beside his dog, Ben clung about the cm-ly neck, sobbing 
bitterly, — 

“Oh, Sarch, he’s never coming back again; never, 
never any more! ” 

Poor Sancho could only whine and lick away the tears 
that wet the half-hidden face, questioning the new friend 
meantime with eyes so full of dumb love and sjunpathy 
and sorrow that they seemed almost human. Wiping 
way her own tears. Miss Celia stooped to pat the white 




A HEAVY TROUBLE, 


91 


head, and to stroke the black one lying so near it that 
the dog’s breast was the boy’s pillow. Presently the 
sobbing ceased, and Ben whispered, without looking 
up,— 

“ Tell me all about it; I ’ll be good.” 

Then, as kindly as she could. Miss Celia read tht 
brief letter which told the hard news bluntly; for Mr. 
Smithers was obliged to confess that he had known 
the truth months before, and never told the boy, lest 
he should be unfitted for the work they gave him. Of 
Ben Brown the elder’s death there was little to tell, 
except that he was kiUed in some wild place at the^ 
West, and a stranger wrote the fact to the only person 
whose name was found in Ben’s pocket-book. Mr. 
Smithers oflfered to take the boy back and “ do well by 
him,” averring that the father wished his son to remain 
where he left him, and follow the profession to which 
he was trained. 

“ WiU you go, Ben?” asked Miss Celia, hoping to 
distract his mind from his grief by speaking of other 
tilings. 

“ No, no; I’d rather tramp and starve. He’s awful 
hard to me and Sanch ; and he ’ll be worse, now father’s 
gone. Don’t send me back! Let me stay here ; folks 
are good to me ; there’s nowhere else to go.” And the 
head Ben had lifted up with a desperate sort of look, 
went down again on Sancho’s breast as if there were no 
other refuge left. 

“You shall stay here, and no one shall take you away 
against your will. I called you ‘ my boy ’ in play, now 
you shall be my boy in earnest; this shall be your 
home, and Thorny your brother. We are orphans, 







92 


UI^DER THE LILACS. 


too; and we will stand by one another till a stronger 
friend conies to help us,” cried Miss Celia, with such a 
mixture of resolution and tenderness in her voice, that 
Ben felt comforted at once, and thanked her by laying 
his cheek against the pretty slipper that rested on the 
step beside him, as if he had no words in which to swear 
loyalty to the gentle mistress whom he meant henceforth 
to serve with grateful fidelity. 

Sancho felt that he must follow suit; and gravely 
put his paw upon her knee, with a low whine, as if he 
said, “ Count me in, and let me help to pay my master^s 
debt if I can.” 

Miss Celia shook the offered paw cordially, and the 
good creature crouched at her feet like a small lion, 
bound to guard her and her house for evermore. 

“ Don’t lie on that cold stone, Ben; come here and 
let me try to comfort you,” she said, stooping to wipe 
away the great drops that kept rolling down the brown 
check half hidden in her dress. 

But Ben put his arm over his face, and sobbed out 
with a fresh burst of grief, — 

“You .an’t,—you didn’t know him I Oh, daddy! 
daddy I if I’d only seen you jest once more! ” 

No one could grant that wish; but Miss Celia did 
comfort him, for presently the sound of music fioated 
out from the parlor, — music so soft, so sweet, that 
involuntarily the boy stopped his crying to listen ; then 
quieter tears dropped slowly, seeming to soothe his 
pain as they fell, while the sense of loneliness passed 
away, and it grew possible to wait till it was time to 
go to father in that far-off countiy’^ lovelier than golden 
California. 





A HEAVY TROUBLE. 


93 


How long she played Miss Celia never minded; but, 
when she stole out to see if Ben had gone, she found 
that other friends, even kinder than herself, had taken 
the boy into their gentle keeping. The vind had sung 
a lullaby among the rustling lilacs, the moon’s mild face 
looked through the leafy arch to kiss the heavy eyelids, 
and faithful Sancho still kept guard beside his little 
master, who, with his head pillowed on his arm, Ky fast 
asleep, dreaming, happily, that “ Daddy had como home 
again.” 



CHAPTER Xi. 


SUNDAY, 

M rs. moss woke Ben with a kiss next morning, 
for her heart yearned over the fatherless lad as 
if he had been her own, and she had no other way of 
showing her S 3 Tiipathy. Ben had forgotten his troubles 
in sleep ; but the memory of them returned as soon as 
he opened his ej^es, heavy with the tears they had shed. 
He did not cry any more, but felt strange and lonely 
till he called Sancho and told him all about it, for he 
was shy even with kind Mrs. Moss, and glad when she 
went away. 

Sancho seemed to understand that his master was in 
trouble, and listened to the sad little story with gurgles 
of interest, whines of condolence, and intelligent barks 
whenever the word “daddy” was uttered. He was 
only a brute, but his dumb affection comforted the boy 
more than any words; for Sanch had known and loved 
“ father” almost as long and well as his son, and that 
seemed to draw them closely together, now they were 
left alone. 

“We must put on mourning, old feller. It*s the 
proper thing, and there’s nobody else to do it now,” 
said Ben, as he dressed, remembering how all the 
company wore bits of crape somewhere about them at 
'Melia’s funeral. 


SUNDA F. 


95 


It was a real sacrifice of boyish vanity to take the 
blue ribbon with its silver anchors off the new hat, and 
replace it with the dingy black band from the old one; 
but Ben was quite sincere in doing this, though doubt¬ 
less his theatrical life made him think of the effect more 
than other lads would have done. He could find nothing 
in his limited wardrobe with which to decorate Sanch 
except a black cambric pocket. It was already half 
torn out of his trousers with the weight of nails, peb¬ 
bles, and other light trifles ; so he gave it a final wrench 
and tied it into the dog’s collar, saying to himself, as he 
put away his treasures, with a sigh, — 

“ One pocket is enough; I sha’n’t want any thing but 
a han’k’chi’f to-day.” 

Fortunately, that article of dress was clean, for he 
had but one; and, with this somewhat ostentatiously 
drooping from the solitary pocket, the serious hat upon 
his head, the new shoes creaking mournfully, and Sanch 
gravely following, much impressed with his black bow, 
the chief mourner descended, feeling that he had done 
his best to show respect to the dead. 

Mrs. Moss’s eyes filled as she saw the rusty band, 
and guessed why it was there ; but she found it difficult 
to repress a smile when slie beheld the cambric symbol 
of woe on the dog’s neck. Not a word was said to 
disturb the boy’s comfort in these poor attempts, how¬ 
ever , and he went out to do his chores, conscious that 
he was an object of interest to his friends, especially 
so to Bab and Betty, who, having been told of Ben’s 
loss, now regarded him with a sort of pitying awe very 
grateful to his feelings. 

“ I want you to drive me to church by-and-by. It 






96 


UNDER THE LILACS 


is going to be pretty warm, and Thorny is hardly strong 
enough to venture yet,” said Miss Celia, when Ben ran 
over after breakfast to see if she had any thing for him 
to do; foi he considered her his mistress now, though 
he was not to take possession of his new quarters till 
the morrow. 

Yes, ’m, I’d like to, if I look well enough,” an¬ 
swered Ben, pleased to be asked, but impressed with 
the idea that people had to be very fine on such oc¬ 
casions. 

“ You will do very well when I have given you a 
touch. God doesn’t mind our clothes, Ben, and the 
poor are as welcome as the rich to him. You have 
not been much, have you?” asked Miss Celia, anxious 
to help the boy, and not quite sure how to begin. 

“ No, ’m ; our folks didn’t hardly ever go, and father 
was so tired he used to rest Sundays, or go ofi* in the 
woods with me.” 

A little quaver came into Ben’s voice as he spoke, 
and a sudden motion made his hat-brim hide his eyes, 
for the thought of the happy times that would never 
come any more was almost too much for him. 

“ That was a pleasant way to rest. I often do so, 
and we will go to the grove this afternoon and try it. 
But I love to go to church in the morning ; it seems to 
atart me right for the week; and if one has a sorrow 
that is the place where one can always find comfort 
WiU you come and try it, Ben, dear?” 

“I’d do any thing to please you,” muttered Ben, 
without looking up; for, though he felt her kindness 
to the bottom of his heart, he did wish that no 
one would talk about father for a little while; it was 






SUNDAY. 


97 


BO hard to keep ft-om crying, and he hated to be a 
baby. 

Miss Celia seemed to understand, for the next thing 
she said, in a very cheerful tone, was, “See what a 
pretty sight that is. When I was a little girl I used to 
think spiders spun cloth for the fairies, and spread it on 
the grass to bleach.” 

Ben stopped digging a hole in the ground with his 
toe, and looked up, to see a lovely cobweb like a wheel, 
circle within circle, spun across a corner of the arch 
over the gate. Tiny drops ghttered on every thread as 
the light shone thi’ough the gossamer curtain, and a 
soft breath of air made it tremble as if about to blow 
it away. 

“It’s mighty pretty, but it wiU fly off, just as the 
others did. I never saw such a chap as that spider is. 
He keeps on spinning a new one every day, for they 
always get broke, and he don’t seem to be discouraged 
a mite,” said Ben, glad to change the subject, as she 
knew he would be. 

“ That is the way he gets his living. He spins his 
web and waifs for his daily bread, — or fly, rather; and 
it always comes, I fancy. By-and-by you will see that 
pretty trap full of insects, and Mr. Spider will lay up 
his provisions for the day. After that he doesn’t care 
how soon his fine web blows away.” 

“ I know him; he’s a handsome feller, all black and 
yellow, and lives up in that corner where the shiny sort 
of hole is. He dives down the minute I touch the gate, 
but comes up after I ve kept still a minute. I like to 
watch him. But he must hate me, for I took away a 
nice green fly and some little millers one day.” 

6 0 





98 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


“Did you ever hear the story of Bruce and his spider ? 
Most children know and like that,” said Miss Celia, 
seeing that he seemed interested. 

“No,’m; I don’t know ever so many things most 
children do,” answered Ben, soberly; for, since he had 
been among his new friends, he had often felt his own 
deficiencies. 

“ Ah, but you also know many things which they do 
not. Half the boys in town would give a great deal to 
be able to ride and run and leap as you do; and even 
the oldest are not as capable of taking care of them- 
seh'Os as you are. Your active life has done much in 
some ways to make a man of you; but in other ways it 
was bad, as I think you begin to see. Now, suppose 
you try to forget the harmful part, and remember only 
the good, while learning to be more like our boj^s, who 
go to school and church, and fit themselves to become 
industrious, honest men.” 

Ben had been looking straight up in Miss Celia’s face 
as she spoke, feeling that every word was true, though 
he could not have expressed it if he had tried; and, 
when she paused, with her bright eyes inquiringly fixed 
on his, he answered heartily, — 

“I’d like to stay here and be respectable j for, since 
I came, I’ve found out that folks don’t think much of 
circus riders, though they hke to go and see ’em. 1 
didn’t use to care about school and such things, but 
I do now; and I guess he ’rf like it better than to have 
me knockin’ round that way without him to look after 
me.” 

“ I know he would; so we will try, Benny. I dare 
say it wiU seem dull and hard at first, after the gay sort 








SUNDAY. 


99 


of life 3’ou have led, and you will miss the excitement. 
But it was not good for you, and we will do our best to 
find something safer. Don’t be discouraged ; and, when 
things trouble you, come to me as Thorny does, and I ’ll 
try to straighten them out for you. I ’ve got two boys 
now, and I want to do my duty by both.” 

Before Ben had time for more than a grateful look, 
a tumbled head appeared at an upper window, and a 
sleep}^ voice drawled out, — 

“ Celia! I can’t find a bit of a shoe-string, and I wish 
you’d come and do my neck-tie.” 

“ Lazy boy, come down here, and bring one of your 
black ties with 3^ou. Shoe-strings are in the little brown 
bag on my bureau,” called back Miss Celia; adding, 
with a laugh, as the tumbled head disappeared mumbling 
something about “ bothering old bags,” — 

“ Thorny has been half spoiled since he was ill. You 
mustn’t mind his fidgets and dawdling ways. He ’ll get 
over them soon, and then I know you two will be good 
friends.” 

Ben had his doubts about that, but resolved to do his 
best for her sake; so, when Master Thorny presently 
appeared, with a careless “How are you, Ben?” that 
young person answered respectfully, — 

“Very well, thank you,” though his nod was as 
condescending as his new master’s; because he felt 
that a boy who could ride bareback and turn a 
double somersault in the air ought not to “ knuckle 
under” to a fellow who had not the strength of a 
pussy-cat. 

“ Sailor’s knot, please , keeps better so,” said Thorny, 
holding up his chin to have a blue-silk scarf tied to suit 


L.ofC. 



100 


UNDER THE LILACS 


nim, for he was already beginning to be something of 
a dandy. 

“You ought to wear red till you get more color, 
dear;” and his sister rubbed her blooming cheek 
against his pale one, as if to lend him some of her 
own roses. 

“ Men don’t care how they look,” said Thorny, squirm 
Ing out of her hold, for he hated to be “ cuddled ” before 
people. 

“Oh, don’t they? Here’s a vain boy who brushes 
his hair a dozen times a day, and quiddles over his collar 
till he is so tired he can hardly stand,” laughed Miss 
Ceha, with a little tweak of his ear. 

“ I should like to know what this is for?” demanded 
Thorny, in a dignified tone, presenting a black tie. 

“ For my other boy. He is going to church with me,” 
and hliss Celia tied a second knot for this young gentle 
man, with a smile that seemed to brighten up even the 
rusty hat-band. 

“Well, I like that —” began Thorny, in a tone that 
contradicted his words. 

A look from his sister reminded him of what she had 
told him half an hour ago, and he stopped short, under¬ 
standing now why she was “ extra good to the little 
tramp.” 

“ So do I, for you are of no use as a driver'yet, and 
I don’t hke to fasten Lita when I have my best gloves 
on,” said Miss Ceha, in a tone that rather nettled Master 
Thorny. 

“Is Ben going to black my boots before he goes?” 
with a glance at the new shoes which caused them to 
creak uneasily. 



SUNDAY, 


101 


“No; he ifl going to black mine^ if he will be so kind. 
You won’t need boots for a week yet, so we won’t waste 
any time over them. You will find every thing in the 
shed, Ben ; and at ten you may go for Lita.” 

With that. Miss Celia walked her brother ofl* to the 
dining-room, and Ben retired to vent his ire in such 
energetic demonstrations with the blacking-brush that 
the little boots shone splendidly. 

He thought he had never seen any thing as pretty as 
his mistress when, an hour later, she came out of the 
house in her white shawl and bonnet, holding a book 
and a late lily-of-the-valley in the pearl-colored gloves, 
which he hardly dared to touch as he helped her into 
the carriage. He had seen a good many fine ladies in 
his life ; and those he had known had been very gay in 
the colors of their hats and gowns, very fond of cheap 
jewelry, and much given to feathers, lace, and furbelows; 
so it rather puzzled him to discover why Miss Celia 
looked so sweet and elegant in such a simple suit. He did 
not then know that the charm was in the woman, not the 
clothes; or that merely living near such a person would 
do more to give him gentle manners, good principles, 
and pure thoughts, than almost any other training he 
could have had. But he was conscious that it was 
pleasant to be there, neatly dressed, in good company, 
and going to church like a respectable boy. Somehow, 
the lonely feeling got better as he rolled along between 
green fields, with the June sunshine brightening every 
thing, a restful quiet in the air, and a friend beside him 
who sat silently looking out at the lovely world with 
what he afterward learned to call her “ Sunday face,” 
^ a soft, happy look, as if all the work and weariness 







102 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


of the past week were forgotten, and she was ready 
to begin afresh when this blessed day was over. 

“Well, child, what is it?” she asked, catching hia 
eye as he stole a shy glance at her, one of many which 
she had not seen. 

“ I was only thinking you looked as if—” 

“ As if what? Don’t be afraid,” she said, for Ben 
paused and fumbled at the reins, feeling half ashamed 
to tell his fancy. 

— “You were s/iying prayers,” he added, wishing 
she had not caught him. 

“ So I was. Don’t you, when you are happy?” 

“ No, ’m. I’m glad, but I don’t say any thing.’ 

“Words are not needed; but they help, sometimes, 
if they are sincere and sweet. Did you never learn 
any prayers, Ben?” 

“Only ‘Now I lay me.* Grandma taught me that 
when I was a little mite of a boy.” 

“I will teach you another, the best that was ever 
made, because it says all we need ask.” 

“ Our folks wasn’t very pious ; they didn’t have time, 
I s’pose.” 

“I wonder if you know just what it means to be 
pious?” 

“ Goin* to church, and readin* the Bible, and sa^dn* 
prayers and h^mins, ain’t it?” 

“ Those things are a part of it; but being kind and 
cheerful, doing one’s duty, helping others, and loving 
God, is the best way to show that we are pious in the 
true sense of the word.” 

“ Then you are ! ” and Ben looked as if her acts had 
been a better definition than her words 




SUNDAY 


103 


“ I try to be, but I very often fail; so every Sunday 
I make new resolutions, and work hard to keep them 
through the week. That is a great help, as you will 
find when you begin to try it.” 

“Do you think if I said in meetin’, ‘I won’t ever 
swear any more,’ that I wouldn’t do it again?” asked 
Ben, soberly; for that was his besetting sin just 
now. 

“I’m afraid we can’t get rid of our faults quite so 
easily; I wish we could: but I do believe that if you 
keep saying that, and trying to stop, 3"Ou will cure the 
habit sooner than you think.” 

“ I never did swear very bad, and I didn’t mind much 
till I came here; but Bab and Betty looked so scared 
when I said ‘ damn,’ and Mrs. Moss scolded me so, I 
tried to leave off. It’s dreadful hard, though, when 
I get mad. ‘ Hang it! ’ don’t seem half so good if I 
want to let off steam.” 

“Thorny used to ‘confound!’ every thing, so I 
proposed that he should whistle instead; and now he 
sometimes pipes up so suddenly and shrilly that it makes 
me jump. How would that do, instead of swearing?” 
proposed Miss Celia, not the least surprised at the habit 
of profanity, which the boy could hardly help learning 
among his former associates. 

Ben laughed, and promised to try it, feeling a mis¬ 
chievous satisfaction at the prospect of out-whistling 
Master Thorny, as he knew he should; for the objeo- 
tionable words rose to his lips a dozen times a day. 

The bell was ringing as they drove into town; and, 
by the time Lita was comfortably settled in her shed, 
people were coming up ffom aU quarters to clustei 




104 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


around the steps of the old meeting-house like bees 
about a hive. Accustomed to a tent, where people 
kept their hats on, Ben forgot all about his, and was 
going down the aisle covered, when a gentle hand took 
it off, and Miss Celia whispered, as she gave it to 
him, — 

“ This is a holy place ; remember that, and uncover 
at the door.” 

Much abashed, Ben followed to the pew, where the 
Squii’e and his wife soon joined them. 

“ Glad to see him here,” said the old gentleman with 
an approving nod, as he recognized the boy and re¬ 
membered his loss. 

“Hope he won’t nestle round in meeting-time,” 
whispered Mrs. Allen, composing herself in the corner 
with much rustling of black silk. 

“ I’ll take care that he doesn’t disturb you,” answered 
Miss Celia, pushing a stool under the short legs, and 
drawing a palm-leaf fan within reach. 

Ben gave an inward sigh at the prospect before h im ; 
for an hour’s captivity to an active lad is hard to bear, 
and he really did want to behave well. So he folded 
his arms and sat like a statue, with nothing moving but 
his eyes. They rolled to and fro, up and down, from 
the high red pulpit to the worn hymn-books in the rack, 
recognizing two little faces under blue-ribboned hats in 
a distant pew, and finding it impossible to restrain a 
momentary twinkle in return for the solemn wink Billy 
Barton bestowed upon him across the aisle. Ten minutes 
of this decorous demeanor made it absolutely necessary 
for him to stir; so he unfolded his arms and crossed 
his legs as cautiously as a mouse moves in the pres- 






SUNDAY. 


105 


ence of a cat; for Mrs. Allen’s eye was on him, 
and he knew by experience that it was a very sharp 
one. 

The music which presently began was a great relief 
to him, for under cover of it he could wag his foot and 
no one heard the creak thereof; and when they stood 
up to sing, he was so sure that all the boys were looking 
at him, he was glad to sit down again. The good old 
minister read the sixteenth chapter of Samuel, and then 
proceeded to preach a long and somewhat dull sermon 
Ben listened with all his ears, for he was interested in 
the young shepherd, “ruddy and of a beautiful coun¬ 
tenance,” who was chosen to be Saul’s armor-bearer. 
He wanted to hear more about him, and how he got on, 
and whether the evil spirits troubled Saul again after 
David had harped them out. But nothing more came ; 
and the old gentleman droned on about other things 
till poor Ben felt that he must either go to sleep like 
the Squire, or tip the stool over by accident, since 
“nestling” was forbidden, and relief of some sort he 
must have. 

Mrs. Allen gave him a peppermint, and he dutifully 
ate it, though it was so hot it made his eyes water. 
Then she fanned him, to his great annoyance, for it 
blew his hair about; and the pride of his life was to 
have his head as smooth and shiny as black satin. An 
irrepressible sigh of weariness attracted Miss Celia’s 
attention at last; for, though she seemed to be listening 
devoutly, her thoughts had flown over the sea, with 
tender prayers for one whom she loved even more than 
David did his Jonathan. She guessed the trouble in a 
minute, and had provided for it, knowing by experienco 




106 


UNDER THE LILACS.- 


that few small boys can keep quiet through sermon 
time. Finding a certain place in the little book she 
had brought, she put it into his hands, with the whis¬ 
per, “Read if you are tired.^' 

Ben clutched the book and gladly obeyed, though 
the title, “ Scripture Narratives,” did not look very 
inviting. Then his e^^e fell on the picture of a slender 
youth cutting a large man’s nead off, while many people 
stood looking on. 

“Jack, the giant-killer,” thought Ben, and turned 
the page to see the words “ David and Goliath,” 
which was enough to set him to reading the story with 
great interest; for here was the shepherd boy turned 
into a hero. No more fidgets now ; the sermon was no 
longer heard, the fan flapped unfelt, and Billy Barton’s 
spirited sketches in the hymn-book were vainly held up 
for admiration. Ben was quite absorbed in the stirring 
history of King David, told in a way that fitted it for 
children’s reading, and illustrated with fine pictures 
which charmed the boy’s eye. 

Sermon and story ended at the same time ; and, while 
he listened to the prayer, Ben felt as if he understood 
now what Miss Celia meant by sajdng that words helped 
when they were well chosen and sincere. Several pe¬ 
titions seemed as if especially intended for him; and 
he repeated them to himself that he might remember 
them, they sounded so sweet and comfortable, heard for 
the first time just when he most needed comfort. Miss 
Celia saw a new expression in the boy’s face as she 
glanced down at him, and heard a little humming at her 
side when all stood up to sing the cheerful hymn with 
which they were dismissed. 





SUNDAY, 


107 


“ How do you like church?” asked the 3"Oung lady, 
as they drove away. 

“ Plrst-rate! ” answered Ben, heartily. 

Especially the sermon? ” 

Ben laughed, and said, with an affectionate glance at 
the little book in her lap, — 

“ I couldn’t understand it; but that story was just 
elegant. There’s more ; and I’d admire to read ’em, 
if I could.” 

“I’m glad you like them ; and we will keep the rest 
for another sermon-time. Thorny used to do so, and 
always called this his ‘ pew book.’ I don’t expect you 
to understand much that you hear yet awhile ; but it is 
good to be there, and after reading these stories you 
will be more interested when you hear the names of the 
people mentioned here.” 

“Yes,’m. Wasn’t David a fine feller? I liked all 
about the kid and the corn and the ten cheeses, and 
killin’ the lion and bear, and slingin’ old Goliath dead 
first shot. I want to know about Joseph next time, for 
I saw a gang of robbers puttin’ him in a hole, and it 
looked real interesting.” 

Miss Celia could not help smiling at Ben’s way of 
telling things; but she was pleased to see that he was 
attracted by the music and the stories, and resolved to 
make church-going so pleasant that he would learn 
to love it for its own sake. 

“ Now, you have tried my way this morning, and we 
will try 3^ours this afternoon. Come over about four 
and help me roll Thorny down to the grove. I am 
going to put one of the hammocks there, because 
the smell of the pines is good for him, and you can 






/ 


108 UNDER THE LILACS. 

talk or read or amuse yourselves in any quiet way 
you like.” 

“ Can I take Sanch along? He doesn’t like to he left, 
and felt real bad because I shut him up, for fear he’d 
follow and come walkin’ into meetin’ to find me.” 

“ Yes, indeed; let the clever Bow-wow have a good 
time, and enjoy Sunday as much as I want my boys 
to.” 

Quite content with this aiTangement, Ben went home 
to dinner, which he made very lively by recounting Billy 
Barton’s ingenious devices to beguile the tedium of 
sermon-time. He said nothing of his conversation 
with Miss Celia, because he had not quite made up his 
mind whether he liked it or not; it was so new and 
serious, he felt as if he had better lay it by, to think 
over a good deal before he could understand all about 
it. But he had time to get dismal again, and long for 
four o’clock; because he had nothing to do except 
whittle. Mrs. Moss went to take a nap; Bab and 
Betty sat demurely on their bench reading Sunday 
books; no boys were allowed to come and play; even 
the hens retired under the currant-bushes, and the cock 
stood among them, clucking drowsily, as if reading 
them a sermon. 

“ Dreadful slow day I ” thought Ben; and, retu’ing to 
the recesses of his own room, he read over the two 
letters which seemed already old to him. Now that the 
first shock was over, he could not make it true that his 
father was dead, and he gave up trying ; for he was an 
honest boy, and felt that it was foolish to pretend to be 
more unhappy than he really was. So he put away his 
letters, took the black pocket off Sauch’s neck, and 





SUNDAl, 


109 


allowed himself to whistle softly as he packed up his 
possessions, ready to move next day, with few regrets 
and many bright anticipations for the fhture. 

“ Thorny, I want you to be good to Ben, and amuse 
him in some quiet way this afternoon. I must stay 
and see the Morris’s, who are coming over; but you 
can go to the grove and have a pleasant time,’* said 
Miss Celia to her brother. 

“ Not much fun in talking to that horsey fellow. I *m 
sorry for him, but 1 can’t do any thing to amuse him,” 
objected Thorny, pulling himself up from the sofa with 
a great 3"awn. 

“ You can be very agreeable when you like; and Ben 
has had enough of’me for this time. To morrow he 
will have his work, and do very well; but we must try 
to help him through to-day, because he doesn’t know 
what to do with himself. Besides, it is just the time 
to make a good impression on him, while grief for his 
father softens him, and gives us a chance. I like him, 
and I’m sure he wants to do well; so it is our duty to 
help him , as there seems to be no one else.” 

“ Here goes, then I Where is he?” and Thorny stood 
up, won by his sister’s sweet earnestness, but ver^ 
doubtful of his own success with the “ horsey fellow.” 

“Waiting with the chair. Randa has gone on with 
the hammock. Be a dear boy, and I ’ll do as mu^h for 
you some day.” 

“ Don’t see how you can be a dear boy. You ’re the 
best sister that ever was ; so I ’ll love all the scallywags 
you ask me to.” 

With a laugh and a kiss. Thorny shambled off to 
ascend his chariot, good-humoredly saluting his pusher^ 



110 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


whom he found sitting on the high rail behind, with his 
feet on Sanch. 

“Drive on, Benjamin. I don’t know the way, so I 
can’t direct. Don’t spill me out, — that’s all I’ve got 
to say.” 

“All right, sir,” — and away Ben trundled down the 
long walk that led through the orchard to a little grove 
of seven pines. 

A pleasant spot; for a soft rustle filled the air, a 
brown cari)et of pine needles, with fallen cones for 
a pattern, lay under foot; and over the tops of the tall 
brakes that fringed the knoll one had glimpses of hill 
and valley, farm-houses and winding river, like a silver 
nbbon through the low, green meadows. 

“ A regular summer house 1 ” said Thorny, surveying 
it with approval. “ What’s the matter, Randa? W^on’t 
it go ? ” he asked, as the stout maid dropped her arms 
with a puff, after vainly trying to throw the hammock 
rope over a branch. 

“ That end went up beautiful, but this one won’t; the 
branches is so high, I can’t reach ’em; and I’m no 
hand at flinging ropes round.” 

“I’ll fix it;” and Ben went up the pine like a 
squirrel, tied a stout knot, and swung himself down 
again before Thorny could get out of the chair. 

“ My patience, what a spry boy I ” exclaimed Randa, 
admiringly. 

“That’s nothing; you ought to see me shin up a 
smooth tent-pole,” said Ben, rubbing the pitch off his 
hands, with a boastful wag of the head. 

“You can go, Randa. Just hand me my cushion 
and books, Ben; then you can sit in the chair while 




SUNDAY. 


Ill 


I talk to you,” commanded Thorny, tumbling into the 
hammock. 

“What’s he goin’ to say to me?” wondered Ben to 
himself, as he sat down with Sanch sprawling among 
the wheels. 

“Now, Ben, I think you’d better learn a hjmin; I 
always used to when I was a little chap, and it is a good 
thing to do Sundays,” began the new teacher, with a 
patronizing air, which ruffled his pupil as much as the 
opprobrious term “little chap.” 

“ I ’ll be — whew — if I do ! ” whistled Ben, stopping 
an oath just in time. 

“ It is not polite to whistle in company,” said Thorny, 
with great dignity. 

“Miss Celia told me to. I’ll say ‘confound it,’ if 
you lilie that better,” answered Ben, as a sly smile 
twinkled in his eyes. 

“ Oh, I see! She’s told you about it? Well, then, 
if you want to please Aer, you’ll learn a hymn right 
off. Come, now, she wants me to be clever to you, 
and I’d like to do it; but if you get.peppery, how 
can I?” 

Thorny spoke in a hearty, blunt way, which suited 
Ben much better than the other, and he responded 
pleasantly, — 

“ If you won’t be grand I won’t be peppery. Nobody 
is going to boss me but Miss Ceha; so I ’ll learn h^unns 
if she wants me to.” 

“ ‘ In the soft season of thy jouth’ is a good one to 
begin with. I learned it when I was six. Nice thing; 
better have it.” And Thorny offered the book like a 
patriarch addressing an infant. 



112 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


Ben siirve3’ed the yellow page with small favor, for 
the long s in the old-fashioned printing bewildered him; 
and when he came to the last two Hnes, he could not 
resist re^ading them wrong,— 

** The earth affords no lovelier 
Than a religious youth.” 

“ I don’t believe I could ever get that into my head 
straight. Haven’t you got a plain one any where 
round?” he asked, turning over the leaves with some 
anxiety. 

“Look at the end, and see if there isn’t a piece of 
poetry pasted in. You learn that, and see how funny 
Celia will look when you say it to her. She wrote it 
when she was a girl, and somebody had it printed for 
other children. I like it best, myself.” 

Pleased by the prospect of a little fun to cheer his 
virtuous task, Ben whisked over the leaves, and read 
with interest the lines Miss Celia had written in her 
girlhood: — 

"MY KINGDOM. 

" A little kingdom I possess, 

Where thoughts and feelings dwell; 

And very hard I find the task 
Of governing it well. 

For passion tempts and troubles me, 

A wayward will misleads. 

And selfishness its shadow casts 
On all my words and deeds. 

How can I learn to rule myself, 

To be the child I should, — 

Honest and brave, — ncr e'^e»’ tire 
Of trying to be good'* 





SUNDAY, 


iia 


How can I keep a sunny soul 
To shine along life's way 1 
How can I tune my little heart 
To sweetly sing all day ? 

“ Dear Father, help me with the love 
That casteth out my fear I 
Teach me to lean on thee, and feel 
That thou art very near; 

That no temptation is unseen, 

No childish grief too small. 

Since Thou, with patience infinite, 

Doth soothe and comfort all. 

“ I do not ask for any crown. 

But that which all may win; 

Nor seek to conquer any world 
Except the one within. 

Be Thou my guide until I find, 

Led by a tender hand. 

Thy happy kingdom in myself, 

And dare to take command.” 

“ I like that! ” said Ben, emphatically, when he had 
read the little hymn. “ I understand it, and I ’ll learn 
it right away. Don’t see how she could make it all 
come out so nice and pretty.” 

“ Celia can do any thing! ” and Thorny gave an all- 
embracing wave of the hand, which forcibly expressed 
his firm belief in his sister’s boundless powers. 

“ I made some poetry once. Bab and Betty thought 
It was first-rate. 1 didn’t,” said Ben, moved to con¬ 
fidence by the discovery of Miss Celia’s poetic skill. 

“ Say it,” commanded Thorny, adding with tact, 
can’t malie any to save my life,—never could; 
but I’m fond of it.” 






114 


UNDER THE LILAC a, 



" Chevalita, 


Pretty creter, 
I do loye her 


Like a brother ; 
Just to ride 
Is my delight, 
For she does not 
Kick or bite,” 


I 


recited Ben with modest pride, for his first attempt 
had been inspired by sincere affection, and pronounced 
“ lovely” by the admiring girls. 

u Very good! You must say them to Celia, too. She 
likes to hear Lita praised. You and she and that little 
Barlow boy ought to try for a prize, as the poets did in 
Athens. I’ll tell you all about it some time. Now, 
you peg away at your h^mn.” 

Cheered bj" Thornj^s commendation, Ben fell to work 
at his new task, squinning about in the chair as if the 
process of getting words into his memory was a very 
painful one. But he had quick wits, and had often 
learned comic songs; so he soon was able to repeat 
the four verses without mistake, much to his own and 
Thorny’s satisfaction. 

“Now we’ll talk,” said the well-pleased preceptor; 
and talk they did, one swinging in the hammock, the 
other rolling about on the pine-needles, as they related 
their experiences boy-fashion. Ben’s were the most ex¬ 
citing ; but Thorny’s were not without interest, for he 
had lived abroad for several years, and could tell all 
sorts of droll stories of the countries he had seen. 

Busied with friends. Miss Celia could not help won¬ 
dering how the lads got on; and, when the tea-bell 
rang, waited a little anxiously for their retuim, knowing 








SUNDAY. 


115 


that she could tell at a glance if they had enjoyed 
themselves. 

“ All goes well so far,” she thought, as she watched 
their approach with a smile ; for Sancho sat bolt upright 
in the chair which Ben pushed, while Thorny strolled 
beside him, leaning on a stout cane newly cut. Both 
boj’s were talking busily, and Thorny laughed from time 
to time, as if his comrade’s chat was very amusing. 

“ See what a jolly cane Ben cut for me! He’s great 
fiin if you don’t stroke him the wrong way,” said the 
elder lad, flourishing his staff as they came up. 

“ What have you been doing down there? You look 
so merry, I suspect mischief,” asked Miss Celia, sur- 
ve}dng tliem from the steps. 

“We’ve been as good as gold. I talked, and Ben 
learned a hjunn to please you. Come, young man, 
say your piece,” said Thorny, with an expression of 
virtuous content. 

Taking ofl* his hat, Ben soberly obeyed, much enjoy¬ 
ing the quick color that came up in Miss Celia’s face as 
she listened, and feeling as if well repaid for the labor 
of learning by the pleased look with which she said, as 
he ended with a bow, — 

“I feel very proud to think you chose that, and to 
hear you say it as if it meant something to you. I was 
only fourteen when I wrote it; but it came right out of 
my heart, and did me good. I hope it may help you 
A httle.” 

Ben murmured that he guessed it would; but felt too 
«hy to talk about such things before Thorny, so hastily 
retired to put the chair away, and the others went in to 
tea. But later in the evening, when Miss Celia was 






116 


UNDER THE LILACS, 


singing like a nightingale, the boy slipped away from 
sleepy Bab and Betty to stand by the s}Tinga bush and 
listen, with his heart full of new thoughts and happy 
feehngs; for never before had he spent a Sunday like 
this. And when he went to bed, instead of sa}ing 
“ Now I lay me,” he repeated the third verse of Miss 
Celia’s h^inn; for that was his favorite, because his 
longing for the father whom he had seen made it seem 
sweet and natural now to love and lean, without fear, 
upon the Father whom he had not seen. 



CHAPTER XII. 


GOOD TIMES, 

E very one was very kind to Ben when his loss was 
known. The Squire wrote to Mr. Smithers that 
the boy had found friends and would stay where he was. 
Mrs. Moss consoled him in her motherly way, and the 
little gii’ls did their very best to “be good to poor 
Benny.’* But Miss CeHa was his truest comforter, and 
completely won his heart, not only by the friendly words 
she said and the pleasant things she did, but by the un¬ 
spoken sympathy which showed itself, just at the right 
minute, in a look, a touch, a smile, more helpful than 
any amount of condolence. She called him “ my man,” 
and Ben tried to be one, bearing his trouble so bravely 
that she respected him, although he was only a little 
boy, because it promised well for the future. 

Then she was so happy herself, it was impossible for 
those about her to be sad, and Ben soon grew cheerful 
again in spite of the very tender memory of his father 
laid quietly away in the safest corner of his heart. He 
would have been a very unboyish boy if he had not been 
hapi)y, for the new place was such a pleasant one, he 
soon felt as if, for the first time, he really had a home. 

No more grubbing now, but daily tasks which never 
grew tiresome, they were so varied and so light. No 




118 


UNDER THE LILACS, 


more cross Pats to try his temper, but the sweetest 
mistress that ever was, since praise was oftcner on her 
lips than blame, and gratitude made willing service a 
delight 

At first, it seemed as if there was going to be trouble 
between the two boys; for Thorny was naturally mas¬ 
terful, and illness had left him weak and nervous, so he 
was often both domineering and petulant. Ben had 
been taught instant obedience to those older than him¬ 
self, and if Thorny had been a man Ben would have 
made no complaint; but it was hard to be “ ordered 
round ” by a boy, and a?' unreasonable one into the 
bargain. 

A word from Miss Celia blew away the threatening 
cloud, however; and for her sake her brother promised 
to tr}^ to be patient; for her sake Ben declared he never 
would “ get mad ” if Mr. Thorny did fidget; and both 
very soon forgot all about master and man and lived 
together like two friendly lads, taking each other’s ups 
and downs good-naturedly, and finding mutual pleasure 
and profit in the new companionship. 

The only point on which they never could agree was 
legs, and many a hearty laugh did they give Miss Celia 
by their warm and serious discussion of this vexed ques¬ 
tion. Thorny insisted that Ben was bow-legged; Ben 
resented the epithet, and declared that the legs of all 
good horsemen must have a slight curve, and any one 
who knew any thing about the matter would acknowl¬ 
edge both its necessity and its beauty. Then Thorny 
would observe that it might be all very well in the sad¬ 
dle, but it made a man waddle like a duck when afoot; 
whereat Ben would retort that, for his part, he would 



GOOD TIMES. 


119 


rather waddle like a duck than tumble abcut like a 
horse with the staggers. He had his oppon* nt there, 
for poor Thorny did look very like a weak-t oeed colt 
when he tried to walk ; but he would never o^ n it, and 
came down upon Ben with crushing allusions to cen¬ 
taurs, or the Greeks and Romans, who were fau.ous both 
for their horsemanship and fine limbs. Ben could not 
answer that, except by proudly referring to the chariot- 
races copied from the ancients, in which he hjtd borne 
a part, which was more than some folks with long legs 
could say. Gentlemen never did that sort of thing, 
nor did they twit their best friends with their misfor¬ 
tunes, Thorny would remark ; casting a pensfre glance 
at his thin hands, longing the while to give Ben a good 
shaking. This hint would remind the other of his young 
master’s late sufferings and all he owed his dear mis¬ 
tress ; and he usually ended the controversy by turning 
a few lively somersaults as a vent for his swelling wrath, 
and come up wuth his temper all right again. Or, if 
Thorny happened to be in the wheeled chair, he would 
trot him round the garden at a pace which nearly took 
his breath away, thereby proving that if “bow-legs” 
were not beautiful to some benighted beings they were 
‘ ‘ good to go.” 

Thorny liked that, and would drop the subject for the 
time by politely introducing some more agreeable topic; 
so the impending quarrel would end in a laugh over 
some boyish joke, and the word “legs” be avoided by 
mutual consent till accident brought it up again. 

The spirit of rivalry is hidden in the best of us, and 
is a helpful and inspiring power if we know how to use 
It. Miss Celia knew this, and tried to make the lads 





120 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


help one another by means of it, — not in boastftd or 
ungenerous comparison of each other’s gifts, but by 
interchanging them, giving and taking freely, kindly, 
and being glad to love what was admirable wherever 
they found it. Thorny admired Ben’s strength, activity, 
and independence ; Ben envied Thorny’s learning, good 
manners, and comfortable surroundings; and, when a 
wise word had set the matter rightly before them, both 
enjoyed the feeling that there was a certain equality 
between them, since money could not buy health, and 
practical knowledge was as useful as any that can be 
found in books. So they interchanged their small ex¬ 
periences, accomplishments, and pleasures, and both 
were the better, as well as the happier, for it; because 
in this way only can we truly love our neighbor as our¬ 
self, and get the real sweetness out of life. 

There was no end to the new and pleasant things 
Ben had to do, from keeping paths and flower-beds 
neat, feeding the pets, and running errands, to waiting 
on Thorny and being right-hand man to Miss Celia. 
He had a httle room in the old house, newly papered 
with hunting scenes, which he was never tired of ad¬ 
miring. In the closet hung several out-grown suits of 
Thorn}^s, made over for his valet; and, what Ben valued 
infinitely more, a pair of boots, well blacked and ready 
for grand occasions, when he rode abroad, with one old 
spur, found in the attic, brightened up and merely worn 
for show, since nothing would have induced him to prick 
beloved Lita with it. 

Many pictures, cut from illustrated papers, of races, 
animals, and birds, were stuck round the room, giving 
it rather the air of a circus and menagerie. This, how- 




GOOD TIMES. 


121 


eyer, made it only the more home-like to its present 
owner, who felt exceedingly rich and respectable as ho 
sm’ve 3 "ed his premises; almost like a retired showman 
who still fondl}" remembers past successes, though now 
happy in the more private walks of life. 

In one di’awer of the quaint little bureau which he 
used, were kept the relics of his father; very few and 
poor, and of no interest to any one but himself, — onl^' 
the letter telling of his death, a worn-out watch-chain, 
and a photograph of Sehor Jos4 Montebello, with his 
youthful son standing on hi? head, both airily attired, 
and both smiling with the calmly supenor expression 
which gentlemen of their profession usually wear ii; 
public. Ben’s other treasures had been stolen with his 
bundle; but these he cherished and often looked at 
when he went to bed, wondering what heaven was like, 
since it was lovelier than California, and usually fell 
asleep with a dreamy" impression that it must be some¬ 
thing like America when Columbus found it, — “a 
pleasant land, where were gay flowers and tall trees, 
with leaves and fruit such as they had never seen 
before.” And through this happy hunting-ground 
“father” was for ever riding on a beautiful white 
horse with wings, like the one of which Miss Celia had 
a picture. 

Nice times Ben had in his little room poring over 
hia books, for he soon had several of his own; but 
bis favorites were Hamerton’s “Animals” and “Our 
Dumb Friends,” both full of interesting pictures and 
anecdotes such as boys love. Still nicer times work¬ 
ing about the house, helping get things in order; and 
best of all were the daily drives with Miss Celia and 



122 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


Thorny, when weather permitted, or solitary rides to 
town tJirough the heaviest rain, for certain letters must 
g(i^knd come, no matter how the elements raged. The 
neighbors soon got used to the “ antics of that boy,” 
but Ben knew that he was an object of interest as he 
careered down the main street in a way that made old 
ladies < ry out and brought people flying to the window, 
sure that some one was being run away with. Lita 
enjo 3 'ed the fun as much as he, and apparently did her 
best to send him heels over head, having rapidly learned 
to understand the signs he gave her b}" the touch of 
hand and foot, or the tones of his voice. 

These performances caused the bo}^s to regard Ben 
Brown with intense admiration, the girls with timid 
aw^ all but Bab, who burned to imitate him, and tried 
her best whenever she got a chance, much to the an¬ 
guish and dismay of poor Jack, for that long-suffering 
animal was the only steed she was allowed to nde. 
Fortunately, neither she nor Betty had much time for 
play just now, as school was about to close for the long 
vacation, and all the little people were busy finishing 
up, that they might go to pla}" with free minds. So the 
“ lilac-})ai-ties,” as they called them, were deferred till 
later, and the lads amused themselves in their own waj’’, 
with Miss Celia to suggest and advise. 

It took Thorny a long time to arrange his possessions, 
for he could only direct while Ben unpacked, wondering 
and admiring as he worked, because he had never seen 
so' many boyish treasures before. The little printing- 
press was his especial delight, and leaving eveiy thing 
els^ in confusion. Thorny taught him its use and 
planned a newspaper on the spot, with Ben for printer, 


GOOD TIMES. 


123 


himself for editor, and “Sister” for chief contributor, 
while Bab should be carrier and Betty office-boy. Next 
came a postage stamp book, and a rainy day was hap¬ 
pily spent in pasting a new collection where each par¬ 
ticular one belonged, with copious explanations from 
Thorny as they went along. Ben did not feel any great 
interest in this amusement after one trial of it, but 
when a book containing patterns of the flags of all na¬ 
tions turned up, he was seized with a desire to copy 
them aZ/, so that the house could be fitly decorated on 
gala occasions. Finding that it amused her brother. 
Miss Celia generously opened her piece-drawer and 
rag-bag, and as the mania grew till her resources were 
exhausted, she bought bits of gay cambric and many- 
colored papers, and startled the store-keeper by pur¬ 
chasing several bottles of mucilage at once. Bab and 
Betty were invited to sew the bright strips or stars, 
and pricked their little fingers assiduously, finding this 
sort of needle-work much more attractive than piecing 
bed-quilts. 

Such a snipping and pasting, planning and stitching 
as went on in the big back room, which was given up 
to them, and such a noble array of banners and pen¬ 
nons as soon decorated its walls, would have caused 
tlie dullest eye to brighten with amusement, if not with 
admiration. Of course, the Stars and Stripes hung 
highest, with the English lion ramping on the royal 
standard close by; then followed a regular jficture- 
gallery, for there was the white elephant of Siam, the 
splendid peacock of Burmah, the double-headed Rus¬ 
sian eagle, and black dragon of China, the winged bon 
of Venice, and the prancing pair on the red, white, and 








124 


UNDER THE LILACS, 


blue flag of Holland. The keys and mitre of the Papal 
States were a hard job, but up they went at last, with 
the yellow crescent of Tuikey on one side and the red 
full moon of Japan on the other; the pretty tlue and 
white flag of Greece hung below and the cross of free 
Switzerland above. If materials had held out, the 
flags of aU the United States would have followed ; but 
paste and patience were exliausted, so the busy workers 
rested awhile before they “ flung their banner to the 
breeze,” as the newspapers have it. 

A spell of ship-building and rigging followed the 
flag fit; for Thorny, feeling too old now for such toys, 
made over his whole fieet to “ the children,” conde¬ 
scending, however, to superintend a thorough repairing 
of the same before he disposed of all but the big man- 
of-war, which continued to ornament his own room, 
with all sail set and a little red officer perpetually wav¬ 
ing his sword on the quarter-deek. 

These gifts led to out-of-door water-works, for the 
brook had to be dammed up, that a shallow ocean might 
be made, where Ben’s piratical “ Red Rover,” with the 
black fiag, might chase and capture Bab’s smart frigate, 
“Queen,” while the “Bounding Betsey,” laden with 
lumber, safely sailed from Kennebunkport to Massa¬ 
chusetts Bay. Thorny, from his chair, was chief- 
angineer, and directed his gang of one how to dig the 
basin, throw up the embankment, and finally let in the 
water till the mimic ocean was full ; then regulate 
the little water-gate, lest it should overflow and wreck 
the pretty squadron of ships, boats, canoes, and rafts, 
which soon rode at anchor there. 

Digging and paddling in mud and water proved such 



GOOD TIMES. 




a delightful pastime that the boys kept it up, till a 
series of water-wheels, little mills and cataracts made 
the once quiet brook look as if a manufacturing town 
was about to spring up where hitherto minnows had 
played in peace and the retiring fi’og had chanted his 
serenade unmolested. 

Miss Celia liked all this, for any thing which would 
keep Thorny happy out-of-doors in the sweet June 
weather found favor in her eyes, and when the novelty 
had worn off from home affsiirs, she planned a series 
of exploring expeditions which filled their boyish souls 
with delight. As none of them knew much about the 
place, it really was quite exciting to start off on a 
bright morning with a roll of wraps and cushions, 
lunch, books, and drawing materials packed into the 
phaeton, and drive at random about the shady roads 
and lanes, pausing when and where they liked. Won¬ 
derful discoveries were made, pretty places were named, 
plans were drawn, and all sorts of merry adventures 
befell the pilgrims. 

Each day they camped in a new spot, and while Lita 
nibbled the fresh grass at her ease. Miss Celia sketched 
under the big umbrella. Thorny read or lounged or slept 
on his rubber blanket, and Ben made himself generally 
useful. Unloading, filling the artist’s water-bottle, pil¬ 
ing the invalid’s cushions, setting out the lunch, run¬ 
ning to and fro for a flower or a butterfly, climbing a 
tree to report the view, reading, chatting, or frolicking 
with Sancho, — any sort of duty was in Ben’s line, and 
he did them all well, for an out-of-door life was natural 
to him and he liked it 

“Ben, I want an amanuensis,” said Thorny, drop* 



126 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


^ing book and pencil one day after a biief interval of 
silence, broken only by the whisper of the young leaves 
o/erhead and the soft babble of the brook close by. 

“A what?” asked Ben, pushing back his hat with 
such an air of amazement that Thorny rather loftily 
inquired: 

“ Don’t you know what an amanuensis is?” 

“ Well, no; not unless it’s some relation to an ana¬ 
conda. Shouldn’t think you’d want one of them, any¬ 
way.” 

Thorny rolled over with a hoot of derision, and his 
sister, who sat close by, sketching an old gate, looked 
up to see what was going on. 

“Well, you needn’t laugh at a feller. Tou didn’t 
know what a wombat was when I asked you, and 1 
didn’t roar,” said Ben, giving his hat a slap, as noth¬ 
ing else was handy. 

“ The idea of wanting an anaconda tickled me so, 1 
couldn’t help it. I dare say you’d have got me one if 
I had asked for it, you are such an obhging chap.” 

“ Of course I would if I could. Shouldn’t be sur¬ 
prised if you did some day, you want such funny 
things,” answered Ben, appeased by the compliment. 

“I’U try the amanuensis first. It’s only some one 
to write for me; I get so tired doing it without a table. 
You write well enough, and it will be good for you to 
know something about botany. I intend to teach you, 
Ben,” said Thorny, as if conferring a great favor. 

“ It looks pretty hard,” muttered Ben, with a doleful 
glance at the book laid open upon a strew of torn leaves 
and flowers. 

“No, it isn’t; it’s regularly Jolly; and you’d be no 


GOOD TIMES. 


127 


end of a help If you only knew a little. Now, suppose 
I say, ‘ Bring me a “ ranunculus bulbosus,” ’ how would 
you know what I wanted ? ” demanded Thorny, waving 
his microscope with a learned air. 

“ Shouldn’t.” 

“ There are quantities of them all round us; and 1 
want to analyze one. See if you can’t guess ” 

Ben stared vaguely from earth to sky, and was about 
to give it up, when a buttercup fell at his feet, and he 
caught sight of Miss Celia smiling at him from behind 
her brother, who did not see the flower. 

“ S’pose you mean this? /don’t call ’em rhinocerus 
bulburses, so I wasn’t sure.” And, taking tlie hint as 
quickly as it was given, Ben presented the buttercup 
as if he knew all about it. 

“ You guessed that remarkably well. Now bring 
me a ‘ leontodon taraxacum,’ ” said Thorny, charmed 
with the quickness of his pupil, and glad to display his 
learning. 

Again Ben gazed, but the field was full of early 
flowers ; and, if a long pencil had not pointed to a dan¬ 
delion close by, he would have been lost. 

“Here you are, sir,” he answered with a chuckle* 
and Thorny took his turn at being astonished now. 

“ How the dickens did you know that?” 

“ Try it again, and may be you’ll find out,” laughed 
Ben, 

Diving hap-hazard into his book. Thorny demanded 
a “ trifolium pratense.” 

The clever pencil pointed, and Ben brought a red 
clover, mightily enjoying the joke, and thinking that 
this kind of bo*^any wasn’t bad fun. 








128 


UNDER TEE LILACS. 


“ Look here, no fooling! ” and Thorny sat up to in 
vestigate the matter, so quickly that his sister bad not 
time to sober down. “ Ah, I Ve caught you! Not fail 
to tell, Celia. Now, Ben, you Ve got to learn all abou 
this buttercup, to pay for cheating.” 

“ Werry good, sir; bring on your rhinoceriouses,” 
answered Ben, who couldn’t help imitating his old friend 
the clown when he felt particularly jolly. 

“ Sit there and write what I tell you,” ordered 
Thorny, with all the severity of a strict school¬ 
master. 

Perching himself on the mossy stump, Ben obediently 
floundered through the following analysis, with constant 
help in the spelling, and much private wonder what 
would come of it: — 

“ Phsenogamous. Exogenous. Angiospenn. Poly- 
petalous. Stamens, more than ten. Stamens on the 
receptacle. Pistils, more than one and separate. Leaves 
without stipules. Crowfoot family. Genus ranunculus. 
Botanical name. Ranunculus bulbosus.” 

“ Jerusalem I what a flower! Pistols and crows’ feet, 
and Polly put the kettles on, and Angy sperms and aL 
the rest of ’em ! If that’s your botany, I won’t take 
any more, thank you,” said Ben, as he paused as hot 
and red as if he had been running a race. 

“Yes, you will; you’U learn that all by heart, and 
then I shall give you a dandelion to do. You ’ll like 
that, because it means dent de lion^ or lion’s tooth ; and 
I ’U show them to you through my glass. You’ve no 
idea how interesting it is, and what heaps of pretty 
things you ’ll see,” answered Thorny, who had already 
discovered how charming the study was, and had found 


GOOD TIMES. 


129 


great satisfaction in it, since he had been forbidden 
more active pleasures. 

“ Wliat’s the good of it, any way?” asked Ben, who 
would rather have been set to mowing the big field than 
to the task before hincL 

“It tells all about it in my book here, — ‘ Gray^s 
Botany for Young People.^ But I can tell you what us6 
it is to continued Thorny, crossing his legs in the air 
and preparing to argue the matter, comfortably l^lng flat 
on his back. “ We are a Scientific Exploration Society, 
and we must keep an account of all the plants, animals, 
minerals, and so on, as we come across them. Then, sup¬ 
pose we get lost, and have to hunt for food, how are we to 
know what is safe and what isn’t ? Come, now, do you know 
the difference between a toadstool and a mushroom ? ” 

“No, 1 don’t.” 

“ Then I ’U teach you some day. There is sweet flag 
and poisonous flag, and aU sorts of berries and things; 
and you’d better look out when you are in the woods, 
or you’U touch ivy and dogwood, and have a horrid 
time, if you don’t know your botany.” 

“Thorny learned much of his by sad experience; 
and you will be wise to take his advice,” said Miss 
Celia, recalling her brother’s various mishaps . before 
the new fancy came on. 

“ Didn’t I have a time of it, though, when I had to 
go round for a week with plantain leaves and cream 
stuck all over my face! Just picked some pretty red 
dogwood, Ben • and then I was a regular guy, with a 
face like a lobster, and my eyes swelled out of sight. 
Come along, and learn right away, and never get into 
scrapes like most fellows.” 


1 




180 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


Imj^ ressed by this warning, and attracted by Thorny's 
enthusiasm, Ben cast himself down upon the blanket, 
and for an hour the two heads bobbed to and fro, from 
microscope to book, the teacher airing his small knowl¬ 
edge, the pupil more and more interested in the new and 
cmious things he saw or heard, — though it must be 
confessed that Ben infinitely preferred to watch anta 
and bugs, queer little worms and gauzy-winged flies, 
rather than “ putter” over plants with long names. He 
did not dare to say so, however; but, when Thorny 
asked him if it wasn’t capital fun, he dodged cleverly 
by proposing to hunt up the flowers for his master to 
study, ofifering to learn about the dangerous ones, but 
pleading want of time to investigate this pleasing science 
very deeply. 

As Thorny had talked himself hoarse, he was very 
ready to dismiss his class of one to fish the milk-bottle 
out of the brook; and recess was prolonged till next 
day. But both boys found a new pleasure in the pretty 
pastime they made of it; for active Ben ranged the 
woods and fields with a tin box slung over his shoulder, 
and feeble Thorny had a little room fitted up for his 
own use, where he pressed flowers in newspaper books, 
dried herbs on the walls, had bottles and cups, pans and 
platters, for his treasures, and made as much litter as 
he liked. 

Presently, Ben brought such lively accounts of the 
green nooks where jacks-in-the-pulpit preached their 
little sermons; brooks, beside which grew blue violets 
and lovely ferns; rocks, round which danced the col¬ 
umbines like rosy elves, or the trees where birds buUt, 
squirrels chattered, and woodchucks burrowed, that 


GOOD TIMES, 


131 


Thorny was seized with a desire to go and see these 
beauties for himself. So Jack was saddled, and went 
plodding, scrambling, and wandering into^ all manner 
of pleasant places, always bringing home a stronger, 
browner rider than he carried away. 

This delighted Miss Celia; and she gladly saw them 
ramble olT together, leaving her time to stitch happily 
at certain dainty bits of sewing, write voluminous letters, 
or dream over others quite as long, swinging in hei 
hammock under the lilacs. 






CHAPTER XIIL 


SOMEBODY RUNS AWAY 

“ School is done, 

Now we ’ll have fun,” 

S UNG Bab and Betty, slamming down their books 
as if they never meant to take them up again, 
when they came home on the last day of June. 

Tired teacher had dismissed them for eight whole 
weeks, and gone away to rest; the little schoolhouse 
was shut up, lessons were over, spirits rising fast, and 
vacation had begun. The quiet town seemed suddenly 
inundated with children, all in such a rampant state 
that busy mothers wondered how they ever should be 
able to keep their frisky darhngs out of mischief; thrifty 
fathers planned how they could bribe the idle hands to 
pick berries or rake hay; and the old folks, while wish¬ 
ing the young folks well, secretly blessed the man who 
invented schools. 

The girls immediately began to talk about picnics 
and have them, too; for little hats sprung up in the 
fields like a new sort of mushroom, — every hillside 
bloomed with gay gowns, looking as if the flowers had 
gone out for a walk ; and the woods were ftiU of feath¬ 
erless birds chirping away as bUthely as the thrushes, 
robins, and wrens. 


SOMEBODY RUNS AWAY. 


The boys took to base-ball like ducks to water; auu 
the common was the scene of tremendous battles, waged 
with much tumult, but little bloodshed. To the un¬ 
initiated, it appeared as if these young men had lost their 
wits; for, no matter how warm it was, there they were, 
teanng about in the maddest manner, jackets off, sleeves 
rolled up, queer caps flung on any way, all batting 
shabby leather balls, and catching the same, as if their 
lives depended on it. Every one talking in his gruff¬ 
est tone, bawling at the top of his voice, squabbling 
over every point of the game, and seeming to enjoy 
himself immensely, in spite of the heat, dust, up¬ 
roar, and imminent danger of getting eyes or teeth 
knocked out. 

Thorny was an excellent player, but, not being strong 
enough to show his prowess, he made Ben his proxy; 
and, sitting on the fence, acted as umpire to his heart’s 
content. Ben was a promising pupil, and made rapid 
progress; for eye, foot, and hand had been so well 
trained, that they did him good service now ; and Brown 
was considered a first-rate “ catcher.” 

Sancho distinguished himself by his skill in hunting 
up stray balls, and guarding jackets when not needed, 
with the air of one of the Old Guard on duty at the 
tomb of Napoleon. Bab also longed to join in the fun, 
which suited her better than “ stupid picnics” or “ fuss¬ 
ing over dolls;” but her heroes would not have her 
at any price; and she was obliged to content herself 
with sitting by Thorny, and watching with breathless 
interest the varying fortunes of “ our side.” 

A grand match was planned for the Fourth of July; 
but when the club met, things were found to be unpra 




UNDER THE LILACS, 


^itioiis. Thorny had gone out of town with his sistei 
to pass the day, two of the best players did not appear, 
and the others were somewhat exhausted by the fes¬ 
tivities, which began at sunrise fbr them. So they lay 
about on the grass in the shade of the big elm, languidly 
discussing their various wrongs and disappointments. 

“It’s the meanest Fourth I ever saw. Can’t have 
no crackers, because somebod 3 "’s horse got scared last 
year,” growled Sam Kitteridge, bitterly resenting the 
stern edict which forbade free-born citizens to burn as 
much gunpowder as the}" liked on that glorious day. 

“ Last 3 "ear Jimmy got his arm blown off when they 
fired the old cannon. Didn’t we have a lively time 
going for the doctors and getting him home?” asked 
another boy, looking as if he felt defrauded of the 
most interesting part of the anniversary, because no 
accident had occurred. 

“ Ain’t going to be fireworks either, unless some- 
bodj^’s barn burns up. Don’t I just wish there would,” 
gloomily responded another j^outh who had so rashly 
indulged in pyrotechnics on a former occasion that a 
neighbor’s cow had been roasted whole. 

“ I wouldn’t give two cents for such a slow old place 
as this. Why, last Fourth at this time, I was rumbling 
through Boston streets up top of our big car, all in my 
best toggery. Hot as pepper, but good fun looking in 
at the upper windows and hearing the women scream 
when the old thing waggled round and I made believe 
I was going to tumble off,” said Ben, leaning on his 
bat with the air of a man who had seen the world and 
felt some natural regret at descending from so lofty a 
sphere 


SOMEBODY RUNS AWAY. 


136 


“ Catch me cutting away if I had such a chance 
as that! ” answered Sam, trying to balance his bat on 
his chin and getting a smart rap across the nose as he 
failed to perform the feat. 

“Much you know about it, old chap. It's hard 
work, I can tell you, and that wouldn’t suit such a 
lazy-bones. Then you are too big to begin, though you 
might do for a fat boy if Smithers wanted one,” said 
Ben, surveying the stout youth with calm contempt. 

“Let’s go in swimming, not loaf round here, if we 
can’t play,” proposed a red and shiny boy, panting for 
a game of leap-frog in Sandy pond. 

“ May as well; don’t see much else to do,” sighed 
Sam, rising like a young elephant. 

The others were about to follow, when a shrill “ Hi, 
hi, boys, hold on! ” made them turn about to behold 
Billy Barton tearing down the street like a runaway 
colt, waving a long strip of paper as he ran. 

“Now, then, what’s the matter?” demanded Ben, 
as the other came up grinning and puffing, but full of 
great news. 

“Look here, read it! I’m going; come along, the 
whole of you,” panted Billy, putting the paper into 
Sam’s hand, and surveying the crowd with a face as 
beaming as a full moon. 

“ Look out for the big show,” read Sam. “Van 
Amburgh & Co.’s New Great Golden Menagerie, Cir¬ 
cus and Colosseum, will exhibit at Berryville, July 4th, 
at 1 and 7 precisely. Admission 50 cents, children 
half-price. Don’t forget day and date. H. Frost, 
Manager.” 

While Sam read, the other boys had been gloating 






186 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


over the enticing pictures which covered the bill. 

There was the golden car, filled with noble beings in 
helmets, all placing on immense trumpets ; the twenty- 
four prancing steeds with manes, tails, and feathered 
heads tossing in the breeze; the clowns, the tumblers, 
the strong men, and the riders fijfing about in the air 
as if the laws of gravitation no longer existed. But, i 

best of all, was the grand conglomeration of animals I 

where the girafle appears to stand on the elephant’s 
back, the zebra to be jumping over the seal, the hippo- I 

potamus to be lunching off a couple of crocodiles, and f 

lions and tigers to be raining down in all directions I 

with their mouths wide open and their tails as stiff as | 

that of the famous Northumberland House lion. ^ 

“Cricky! wouldn’t I like to see that,” said little 1 
Cynis Fa}", devoutly hoping that the cage, in which 
this pleasing spectacle took place, was a very strong 
one. 

“ You never would, it’s only a picture ! That, now, 

IS something like,” and Ben, who had pricked up his 
ears at the word “ circus,” laid his finger on a smaller 
cut of a man hanging by the back of his neck with a 
child in each hand, two men suspended from his feet, 
and the third swinging forward to alight on his head. 

“I’m going,” said Sam, with calm decision, for this 
superb array of unknown pleasures fired his soul and 
made him forget his weight. 

“How will you fix it?” asked Ben, fingering the 
bill with a nervous thrill all through his wiry limbs, just 
as he used to feel it when his father caught him up to 
dash into the ring. 

“Foot it .fith Billy. It’s only foul miles, and 


1 




bOMEBODY RUNS AWAY, 


137 


we Ve got lots of time, so we can take it easy. Mother 
won’t care, if I send word by Cy,” answered Sam, pro¬ 
ducing half a dollar, as if such magnificent sums were 
no strangers to his pocket. 

“Come on. Brown; you’ll be a first-rate fellow to 
show us round, as you know all the dodges,” said Billy 
Rnxious to get his money’s worth. 

“Well, I don’t know,” began Ben, longing to go, 
but afraid Mrs. Moss would say “No!” if he asked 
leave. 

“He’s afraid,” sneered the red-faced boy, who felt 
bitterly toward all mankind at that instant, because he 
knew there was no hope of his going. 

“ Say that again, and I’ll knock your head off,” and 
Ben faced round with a gestm-e which caused the other 
to skip out of reach precipitately. 

“Hasn’t got any money, more likely,” observed a 
shabby youth, whose pockets never had any thing in 
them but a pair of dirty hands. 

Ben calmly produced a dollar bill and waved it defi¬ 
antly before this doubter, observing with dignity: 

“I’ve got money enough to treat the whole crowd, 
if I choose to, which I donH.” 

“Then come along and have a jolly time with Sam 
and me. We can buy some dinner and get a ride home, 
as like as not,” said the amiable Billy, with a slap on 
the shoulder, and a cordial grin which made it impossi¬ 
ble for Ben to resist. 

“What are you stopping for?” demanded Sam, 
ready to be oflT, that they might “take it easy.” 

“Don’t know what to do with Sancho. He’ll get 
lost or stolen if I take him, and it’s too far to carry 






138 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


him home if you are in a hurry,” began Ben, persuad¬ 
ing himself that this was the true reason of hia 
delay. 

“Let Cy take him back. He’ll do it for a cent; 
won’t you, Cy?” proposed Billy, smoothing away all 
objections, for he liked Ben, and saw that he wanted 
to go. 

“No. I won’t; I don't like him. He winks at me, 
and growls when I touch him,” muttered naughty Cy, 
remembering how much reason poor Sanch had to dis¬ 
trust his tormentor. 

“There’s Bab; she’ll do it. Come here, sissy; 
Ben wants you,” called Sam, beckoning to a small 
figure just perching on the fence. 

Down it jumped and came fluttering up, much elated 
at being summoned by the captain of the sacred nine. 

“ I want you to take Sanch home, and tell your 
mother I’m going to walk, and may be won’t be back 
till sundown. Miss Celia said I might do what I pleased, 
all day. You remember, now.” 

Ben spoke without looking up, and affected to be 
very bus}" buckling a strap into Sanch’s collar, for the 
two were so seldom parted that the dog always rebelled. 
It was a mistake on Ben’s part, for while his eyes were 
on his work Bab’s were devouring the bill which Sam 
still held, and her suspicions were aroused by the boys’ 
faces. 

“Where are you going? Ma will want to know,” 
she said, as curious as a magpie all at once. 

“Never you mind; girls can’t know every thing. 
Tou just catch hold of this and run along home. Lock 
Sanch un for an hour, and tell your mother I’m aU 




SOMEBODY RUNS AWAY. 


139 


right,” answered Ben, bound to assert his manly su¬ 
premacy before his mates. 

“He’s going to the circus,” whispered Fay, hoping 
to make mischief. 

“ Circus ! Oh, Ben, do take me! ” cried Bab, fklling 
into a state of great excitement at the mere thought of 
such delight. 

“ You couldn’t walk four miles,” began Ben. 

“ Yes, I could, as easy as not.” 

“You haven’t got any money.” 

“ You have ; I saw you showing your dollar, and you 
could pay for me, and Ma would pay it back.” 

“ Can’t wait for you to get ready.” 

“ I ’ll go as I am. I don’t care if it is my old hat,” 
and Bab jerked it on to her head. 

“ Your mother wouldn’t like it.” 

“ She won’t like your going, either.” 

“She isn’t my missis now. Miss Celia wouldnt 
care, and I’m going, any way.” 

“ Do, do take me, Ben I I ’ll be just as good as ever 
was, and I ’ll take care of Sanch all the way,” pleaded 
Bab, clasping her hands and looking round for some 
sign of relenting in the faces of the boys. 

“ Don’t you bother; we don’t want any girls tagging 
after us,” said Sam, walking off to escape the annoy¬ 
ance. 

“I’ll bring you a roll of chickerberry lozengers, if 
you won’t tease,” whispered kind-hearted Billy, with a 
consoling pat on the crown of the shabby straw hat. 

“ When the circus comes here you shall go, certain 
sure, and Betty too,” said Ben, feeling mean while he 
proposed what he knew was a hollow mockery. 





140 


UNDER THE LILACS, 


“ They never do come to such little towns ; you said 
so, and I think you are very cross, and 1 won’t take c&re 
of Sanch, so, now ! ” cried Bab, getting into a passion, 
yet ready to cry, she was so disappointed. 

“I suppose it wouldn’t do—” hinted Billy with a 
look from Ben to the little girl, who stood winking hard 
to keep the tears back. 

“ Of course it wouldn’t. I’d like to see her walking 
eight miles. I don’t mind paying for her; it’s getting 
her there and back. Girls are such a bother when 
you want to knock round. No, Bab, you canH go. 
Travel right home and don’t make a fuss. Come along, 
boys; it’s most eleven, and we don’t want to walk 
fast.” 

Ben spoke very decidedly; and, taking Billy’s arm, 
away they went, leaving poor Bab and Sanch to watch 
them out of sight, one sobbing, the other whining dis- 
mall}^ 

Somehow those two figures seemed to go before Ben 
all along the pleasant road, and half spoilt his fun; for 
though he laughed and talked, cut canes, and seemed 
as merry as a grig, he could not help feeling that he 
ought to have asked leave to go, and been kinder to 
Bab. 

“ Perhaps Mrs. Moss would have planned somehow 
80 we could all go, if I’d told her. I’d like to show 
her round, and she’s been real good to me. No use 
now. I ’ll take the girls a lot of candy and make it all 
right.” 

He tried to settle it in that way and trudged gayly 
on, hoping Sancho wouldn’t feel hurt at being left, 
wondering if any of “ Smithers’s lot ” would be round, 


SOMEBdDY RUNS AWAY, 


141 


ftnd planning to do the honors handsomely to the 
boys. 

It was very warm ; and just outside of the town they 
paused by a wayside watering-trough to wash their 
dusty faces, and cool off before plunging into the ex¬ 
citements of the afternoon. As they stood refreshing 
themselves, a baker’s cart came jingling by; and Sam 
proposed a hasty lunch while they rested. A supply 
of gingerbread was soon bought; and, climbing the 
green bank above, they lay on the grass under a wild 
cherry-tree, munching luxuriously, while they feasted 
their eyes at the same time on the splendors awaiting 
them; for the great tent, with all its flags flying, was 
visible from the hill. 

“We’ll cut across those fields,—it’s shorter than 
going by the road, — and then we can look round out¬ 
side till it’s time to go in. I want to have a good go 
at every thing, especially the hons,” said Sam, begin¬ 
ning on his last cookie. 

“ I heard ’em roar just now; ” and Billy stood up to 
gaze with big eyes at the flapping canvas which hid the 
king of beasts fi’om his longing sight. 

“ That was a cow mooing. Don’t you be a donkey, 
Bill. AVTien you hear a real roar, you ’ll shake in youi 
boots,” said Ben, holding up his handkerchief to dry, 
after it had done double duty as towel and napkin. 

“ I wish you’d hurry up, Sam. Folks are going in 
now. I see ’em I ” and Billy pranced with impatience; 
for this was his first circus, and he firmly believed that 
he was going to behold all that the pictures promised. 

“ Hold on a minute, while I get one more drink. 
Buns are dr^ fodder,” said Sam, rolling over to the 





142 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


edge of the bank and preparing to descend with as little 
trouble as possible. 

He nearly went down head first, however; for, as he 
looked before he leaped, he beheld a sight which caused 
him to stare with all his might for an instant, then turn 
and beckon, saying in an eager whisper, “Look here, 
boys, — quick ! ” 

Ben and Billy peered over, and both suppressed an 
astonished “ Hullo! ” for there stood Bab, waiting for 
Sancho to lap his fill out of the overflowing trough. 

Such a shabby, tired-looking couple as they were! 
Bab with a face as red as a lobster and streaked with 
tears, shoes white with dust, play frock torn at the 
gathers, something bundled up in her apron, and one 
shoe down at the heel'as if it hurt her. Sancho lapped 
eagerly, with his eyes shut; all his ruffles were gray 
with dust, and his tail hung wearily down, the tassel 
at half mast, as if in momming for the master whom 
he had come to find. Bab still held the strap, intent 
on keeping her charge safe, though she lost herself; 
but her courage seemed to be giving out, as she looked 
anxiously up and down the road, seeing no sign of the 
thi’ee familiar figures she had been following as steadily 
as a little Indian on the war-trail. 

“ Oh, Sanch, what shall I do if they don’t come along? 
We must have gone by them somewhere, for I don’t see 
any one that way, and there isn’t any other road to the 
circus, seems to me.” 

Bab spoke as if the dog could understand and answer; 
and Sancho looked as if he did both, for he stopped 
drinking, pricked up his ears, and, fixing his sharp eyes 
on the grass above him, gave a suspicions bark. 



SOMEBODY RUNS AWAY. 


143 


“It’s only squirrels; don’t mind, but come along 
and be good; for I’m so tired, I don’t know what to 
do! ” sighed Bab, trying to pull him after her as she 
trudged on, bound to see the outside of that wonderfiil 
tent, even if she never got in. 

But Sancho had heard a soft chirrup; and, with a 
sudden bound, twitched the strap away, sprang up the 
bank, and landed directly on Ben’s back as he lay peep¬ 
ing over. A peal of laughter greeted him ; and, having 
got the better of his master in more ways than one, he 
made the most of the advantage by playfully worrying 
him as he kept him down, licking his face in spite of 
his struggles, burrowing in his neck with a ticklish nose, 
snapping at his buttons, and yelping joyfully, as if it 
was the best joke in the world to play hide-and-seek for 
four long miles. 

Before Ben could quiet him, Bab came climbing up 
the bank, with such a funny mixture of fear, fatigue, 
determination, and relief in her dirty little face, that 
the boys could not look awfhl if they tried. 

“How dared you come after us, miss?” demanded 
Sam, as she looked calmly about her, and took a seat 
before she was asked. 

“ Sanch would come after Ben; I couldn’t make him 
go home, so I had to hold on till he was safe here, else 
he’d be lost, and then Ben would feel bad.” 

The cleverness of that excuse tickled the boys im¬ 
mensely ; and Sam tried again, while Ben was getting 
the dog down and sitting on him. 

“ Now you expect to go to the circus, I suppose.” 

“ Course I do. Ben said he didn’t mind paying, if 
I could get there without bothering him, and I have; 





144 


UJSDER THE LILACS. 


and I ’ll go home alone. I ain’t afraid. Sanch will take 
care of me, if you won’t,” answered Bab, stoutly. 

“What do you suppose your mother will say to 
you ? ” asked Ben, feeling much reproached by her last 
words. 

“I guess she’ll say you led me into mischief;” and 
the sharp child nodded, as if she defied him to deny the 
truth of that. 

“ You’ll catch it when you get home, Ben ; so you’d 
better have a good time while you can,” advised Sam, 
thinking Bab great fun, since none of the blame of 
her pranks would fall on him. 

“ WTiat would you have done if you hadn't fbund 
us?” asked Billy, forgetting his impatience in his ad¬ 
miration for this plucky young lady. 

“ I’d have gone on and seen the circus, and then I’d 
have gone home again and told Betty all about it,” was 
the prompt answer. 

“ But you haven’t any money.” 

“ Oh, I’d ask somebody to pay for me. I’m so little, 
it wouldn’t be much.” 

“ Nobody would do it; so you’d have to stay outside, 
you see.” 

“ No, I wouldn’t. I thought of that, and planned how 
I d fix it if I didn’t find Ben. I’d make Sanch do his 
tricks, and get a quarter that way; so, now I ” answered 
Bab, undaunted by any obstacle. 

“ I do believe she would I You are a smart child, 
Bab; and if I had enough I’d take you in myself,” 
said Billy, heartily; for, having sisters of his own, he 
kept a soft place in his heart for girls, especially enter¬ 
prising ones. 


SOMEBODY RUNS AWAY. 


145 


“ T '11 take care of her. It was very naughty to come, 
Bab ; but, so long as you did, you needn’t woiTy about 
any thing. I ’ll see to you; and you shall have a real 
good time,” said Ben, accepting his responsibihties 
without a murmur, and bound to do the handsome thing 
by his persistent friend. 

“I thought 3 'ou would;” and Bab folded her arms, 
as if she had nothing further to do but enjoy herself. 

“Are you hungi’y?” asked Billy, fishing out several 
fragments of gingerbread. 

“Starving!” and Bab ate them with such a relish 
that Sam added a smaD contribution; and Ben caught 
some water for her in his hand, where the little spring 
bubbled up beside a stone. 

“Now, you wash your face and spat down your 
hair, and put your hat on straight, and then we’ll 
go,” commanded Ben, giving Sanch a roll on the grass 
to clean him. 

Bab scrubbed her face till it shone ; and, pulling down 
her apron to wipe it, scattered a load of treasures col¬ 
lected in her walk. Some of the dead flowers, bits of 
moss, and green twigs fell near Ben, and one attracted 
his attention, — a spray of broad, smooth leaves, with 
a bunch of whitish berries on it. 

“ Where did you get that? ” he asked, poking it with 
his foot. 

“In a swampy place, coming along. Sanch saw 
something down there; and I went with him, ’cause I 
thought may be it was a musk-rat, and you’d like one 
if we could get him.” 

“Was it?” asked the boys aU at once, and W'.th 
intense interest. 

7 


j 



146 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


'‘No; only a snake, and I don’t care for snakes. 
I picked some of that, it was so green and pretty. 
Thorny likes queer leaves and berries, you know,” an¬ 
swered Bab, “ spatting” down her rough locks. 

“ Well, he won’t like that, nor you either; it’s poi¬ 
sonous, and I shouldn’t wonder if you’d got poisoned, 
Bab. Don’t touch it! swamp-sumach is horrid stuff, — 
hliss Celia said so ; ” and Ben looked anxiously at Bab, 
who felt her chubby face all over, and examined her 
ding>" hands with a solemn air, asking eagerly, — 

“ Will it break out on me ’fore I get to the circus?” 

“Not for a day or so, I guess; but it’s bad.when 
it does come.” 

“ I don’t care, if I see the animals first. Come quick, 
and never mind the old weeds and things,” said Bab, 
much relieved; for present bliss was all she had room 
for now in her happy little heart. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


SOMEBODY GETS LOST. 

P UTTING all care behind them, the young folks ran 
down the hill, with a very Uvely dog gambolling 
beside them, and took a delightfully tantalizing survey 
of the external charms of the big tent. But people 
were beginning to go in, and it was impossible to delay 
when they came round to the entrance. 

Ben felt that now “ his foot was on his native heath,’* 
and the superb air of indiflEerence with which he threw 
down his dollar at the ticket-office, carelessly swept up 
the change, and strolled into the tent with his hands in 
his pockets, was so impressive that even big Sam re¬ 
pressed his excitement and meekly followed their leader, 
as he led them from cage to cage, doing the honors as 
if he owned the whole concern. Bab held tight to the 
flap of his jacket, staring about her with round eyes, 
and listening with little gasps of astonishment or delight 
to the roaring of lions, the snarling of tigers, the chatter 
of the monkey's, the groaning of camels, and the music 
of the very brass band shut up in a red bin. 

Five elephants were tossing their hay about in the 
middle of the menagerie, and Billy’s legs shook under 
him as he looked up at the big beasts whose long noses 








148 


UNDER THE LILACS, 


and small, sagacious eyes filled him with awe. Sam waa 
so tickled by the droll monkeys that the others left him 
before the cage and went on to see the zebra, “ striped 
just like Ma’s muslin gown,” Bab declared. But the 
next minute she forgot aU about him in her raptures over 
the ponies and their tiny colts ; especially one mite of a 
thing who lay asleep on the hay, such a miniature copy 
of its little mouse-colored mamma that one could hardly 
beheve it was alive. 

“Oh, Ben, I must feel of it! — the cunning baby 
horse I ” and down went Bab inside the rope to pat and 
admire the pretty creature, while its mother smelt 
suspiciously at the brown hat, and baby lazily opened 
one eye to see what was going on. 

“Come out of that, it isn’t allowed!” commanded 
Ben, longing to do the same thing, but mindful of the 
proprieties and his own dignity. 

Bab reluctantly tore herself away to find consolation 
in watching the young lions, who looked so like big 
puppies, and the tigers washing their faces just as puss 
did. 

“ K I stroked ’em, wouldn’t they purr?” she asked, 
bent on enjojdng herself, while Ben held her skirts lest 
she should try the experiment. 

“ You’d better not go to patting them, or you ’U get 
your hands clawed up. Tigers do purr like fun when 
they are happy, but these fellers never are, and you ’ll 
only see ’em spit and snarl,” said Ben, leading the way 
to the humpy camels, who were peacefully chemng their 
cud and longing for the desert, with a dreamy, far-away 
look in their mournful eyes. 

Here, leaning on the rope, and scientifically biting a 


SOMEBODY GETS LOST. 


149 


straw while he talked, Ben played showman to hia 
hearths content till the neigh of a horse from the circus 
tent beyond reminded him of the joys to come. 

We’d better hurry along and get good seats before 
folks begin to crowd. I want to sit near the curtain 
and see if any of Smithers’s lot are 'round.” 

I ain’t going way ofl' there; you can’t see half so 
well, and that big drum makes such a noise you can’t 
hear yourself think,” said Sam, who had rejoined 
them. 

So they settled in good places where they could see 
and hear all that went on in the ring and still catch 
glimpses of white horses, bright colors, and the ghtter 
of helmets beyond the dingy red curtains. Ben treated 
Bab to peanuts and pop-corn like an indulgent parent, 
and she murmured protestations of undoing gratitude 
with her mouth full, as she sat blissfully between him 
and the congenial BiUy. 

Sancho, meantime, had been much excited by the 
familiar sights and sounds, and now was greatly exer¬ 
cised in his doggish mind at the unusual proceeding of 
his master; for he was sure that they ought to be within 
there, putting on their costumes, ready to take then 
turn. He looked anxiously at Ben, sniffed disdainfully 
ftt the sti-ap as if to remind him that a scarlet ribbon 
ought to take its place, and poked peanut shells about 
with his paw as if searching for the letters with which 
to spell his famous name. 

“ I know, old boy, I know; but it can’t be done. 
We’ve quit the business and must just look on. No 
larks for us this time, Sanch, so keep quiet and behave,** 
whispfu'ed Ben, tucking the dog awav under the seat 





150 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


with a sympathetic cuddle of the curly head that peeped 
out from between his feet. 

“ He wants to go and cut up, don’t he?” said Billy, 
“ and so do you, I guess. Wish you were goiiig to. 
Wouldn’t it be fun to see Ben showing off in there?” 

“ I’d be afraid to have him go up on a pile of ele¬ 
phants and jump through hoops like these folks,” an¬ 
swered Bab, poring over her pictured play-biU with 
unabated relish. 

“ Done it a hundred times, and I’d just like to show 
you what I can do. They don’t seem to have any boys 
in this lot; shouldn’t wonder if they’d take me if I 
asked ’em,” said Ben, moving uneasily on his seat and 
casting wistful glances toward the inner tent where he 
knew he would feel more at home than in his present 
place. 

“ I heard some men say that it’s against the law to 
have small boys now; it’s so dangerous and not good 
for them, this kind of thing. If that’s so, you ’re done 
for, Ben,” observed Sam, witu his most grown-up air, 
remembering Ben’s remarks on “ fat boys.” 

“ Don’t behev^ a word of it, and Sanch and I could 
go this minute and get taken on, I ’U bet. We ai-e a 
valuable couple, and 1 could prove it if I chose to,’' 
began Ben, getting excited and boastful. 

“Oh, see, they ’re coming!—gold carriages and 
lovely horses, and flags and elephants, and every thing ! ” 
cried Bab, giving a clutch at Ben’s arm as the opening 
procession appeared headed by the band, tooting and 
banging till their faces were as red as their uniforms. 

Round and round they went till every one had seen 
their fill, then the riders alone were left caracohng about 


SOMEBODY GETS LOST, 


151 


!lie riug with feathers flj’ing, horses prancing, and per¬ 
formers looking as tired and indifferent as if they would 
all like to go to sleep then and there. 

“ How splendid ! ” sighed Bab, as they went dashing 
out, to tumble off almost before the horses stopped. 

“ That’s nothing! You wait till you see the bare-back 
riding and the ‘ acrobatic exercises,’ ” said Ben, quot¬ 
ing from the play-biU, with the air of one who knew aU 
about the feats to come, and could never be suri)ri8ed 
any more. 

“What are ‘ crowbackic exercises?’” asked Billy, 
thirsting for information. 

“ Leaping and climbing and tumbhng; you ’ll see 
— George! what a stunning horse! ” and Ben forgot 
every thing else to feast his eyes on the handsome 
creature who now came pacing in to dance, upset and 
replace chairs, kneel, bow, and perform many wonder¬ 
ful or graceful feats, ending with a swift gallop while 
the rider sat in a chair on its back fanning himself, with 
his legs crossed, as comfortably as you please. 

“ That, now, is something like,” and Ben’s eyes 
shone with admiration and envy as the pair vanished, 
and the pink and silver acrobats came leaping into the 
ring. 

The boys were especially interested in this part, and 
well they might be ; for strength and agility are manly 
attributes which lads appreciate, and these hvely fellows 
flew about like India-rubber balls, each tr}dng to outdo 
the other, till the leader of the acrobats capped the 
climax by turning a double somersault over five ele¬ 
phants standing side by side. 

“There, sir, how’s that for a jump?” asked Ben. 




UNDER THE LILACS 


rubbing his hands vrith satisfaction as his fnends clajjped 
till their palms tingled. 

“ We ’ll rig up a spring-board and try it,” said Billy, 
fired with emulation. 

“Where’ll 3 ^ou get your elephants?” asked Sam, 
scornfully, for gymnastics were not in his line. 

“You’ll do for one,” retorted Ben, and Billy and 
Bab joined in his laugh so heartily" that a rough-looking 
man who sat behind them, hearing all they said, pro¬ 
nounced them a “jolly set,” and kept his e^^e on Sancho, 
who now showed signs of insubordination. 

“ Hullo, that wasn’t on the bill! ” cried Ben, as a 
parti-colored clown came in, followed b}^ half a dozen 
dogs. 

“I’m so glad ; now Sancho will like it. There’s a 
poodle that might be his ownty donty brother — the 
one with the blue ribbon,” said Bab, beaming with de¬ 
light as the dogs took their seats in the chairs arranged 
for them. 

Sancho did like it only too well, for he scrambled out 
from under the seat in a great hurry to go and greet his 
friends ; and, being shaipl^* checked, sat up and begged 
BO piteously that Ben found it very hard to refuse and 
order him down. He subsided for a moment, but 
when the black spaniel, who acted the canine clown, 
did something funny and was applauded, Sancho made 
a dart as if bent on leaping into the ring to outdo his 
rival, and Ben was forced to box his ears and put his 
feet on the poor beast, fearing he would be ordered out 
if he made anj^ disturbance. 

Too well trained to rebel again, Sancho lay meditating 
on his wrongs till the dog act was over, carefully ab- 






SOMEBODY GETS LOST. 


153 


staining from any further sign of interest in their tricks, 
and only giving a sidelong glance at the two little poo¬ 
dles who came out of a basket to run up and down stairs 
on their fore paws, dance jigs on their hind legs, and 
play various pretty pranks to the great delight of all the 
children in the audience. If ever a dog expressed by 
look and attitude, “ Pooh ! I could do much better than 
that, and astonish you all, if I were only allowed to,” 
that dog was Sancho, as he curled himself up and af¬ 
fected to turn his back on an unappreciative world. 

“It’s too bad, when he knows more than all those 
chaps put together. I’d give any thing if I could show 
him off as I used to. Folks always like it, and I was 
ever so proud of him. He’s mad now because I had to 
cuff him, and won’t take any notice of me till I make 
up,” said Ben, regretfully eying his offended friend, 
but not daring to beg pardon yet. 

More riding followed, and Bab was kept in a breath¬ 
less state by the marvellous agility and skill of the gauzy 
lady who drove four horses at once, leaped through 
hoops, over banners and bars, sprang off and on at full 
speed, and seemed to enjoy it all so much it was impos¬ 
sible to believe that there could be any danger or exer¬ 
tion in it. Then two girls flew about on the trapeze, 
and walked on a tight rope, causing Bab to feel that she 
had at last found her sphere ; for, young as she was, her 
mother often said, — 

“ I really don’t know what this child is fit for, except 
mischief, like a monke}'.” 

“I’ll fix the clothes-line when I get home, and show 
Ma how nice it is. Then, may be, she ’U let me wear 
red and gold trousers, and climb round like these gtrls,’^ 






154 


UNDER TEE LILACS. 


thought the busy little brain, much excited by all it saw 
on that memorable day. 

Nothing short of a p^Tamid of elephants with a glit¬ 
tering gentleman in a turban and top boots on the sum- 
mit would have made her forget this new and charming 
plan. But that astonishing spectacle, and the prospect 
of a cage of Bengal tigers with a man among them, in 
imminent danger of being eaten before her eyes, en¬ 
tirely absorbed her thoughts till, just as the big animals 
went lumbering out, a peal of thunder caused consid¬ 
erable commotion in the audience. Men on the highest 
seats popped their heads through the openings in the 
tent-cover and reported that a heavy shower was coming 
up. Anxious mothers began to collect their flocks of 
children as hens do their chickens at sunset; timid peo¬ 
ple told cheerful stories of tents blown over in gales, 
cages upset and wild beasts let loose. INIany left in 
naste, and the performers hurried to finish as soon as 
possible. 

“I’m going now before the crowd comes, so I can 
get a lift home. I see two or three folks I know, so 
I’m off;” and, climbing hastily down, Sam vanished 
without fui’ther ceremony. 

“Better wait till the shower is over. We can go 
and see the animals again, and get home all dry, just 
18 well as not,” observed Ben, encouragingly, as BiUy 
looked anxiously at the billowing canvas over his head, 
the swaying posts before him, and heard the quick pat¬ 
ter of drops outside, not to mention the melancholy 
roar of the lion which sounded rather awful through the 
sudden gloom which filled the strange place. 

“I wouldn’t miss the tigers for any thing. See, 



SOMEBODY GETS LOST. 


155 


they are pulling in the cart now, and the shiny man is 
ail ready with his gun. Will ho shoot any of them, 
Ben?” asked Bab, nestling nearer with a little shiver 
of apprehension, for the sharp crack of a rifle startled 
her more than the loudest thunder-clap she ever heard. 

“Bless you, no, child; it’s only poAvder to make 
noise and scare ’em. I wouldn’t like to be in his place 
though; father says you can never trust tigers as you 
can lions, no matter how tame they are. Sly fellers, 
like cats, and when they scratch it’s no joke, I tell 
you,” answered Ben, with a knowing wag of the head, 
as the sides of the cage rattled down, and the poor, 
fierce creatures were seen leaping and snarling as if 
they resented this display of their captivity. 

Bab curled up her feet and winked fast with excite 
mcnt as she watched the “ shiny man” fondle the great 
cats, lie down among them, pull open their red mouths, 
and make them leap over him or crouch at his feet as 
he snapped the long whip. When he fired the gun and 
they all fell as if dead, she with difficulty suppressed a 
small scream and clapped her hands over her ears ; but 
poor Billy never minded it a bit, for he was pale and 
quaking with the fear of “ heaven’s artillery” thunder¬ 
ing over head, and as a bright flash of hghtning seemed 
to run down the tall tent-poles he hid his eyes and 
wished with all his heart that he was safe with mother. 

“’Fraid of thunder, BiU?” asked Ben, trying to 
speak stoutly, while a sense of his own responsibihties 
began to worry him, for how was Bab to be got home 
in such a pouring rain? 

“ It makes me sick; always did. Wish I hadn’t 
come,” sighed Billy, feeling, all too latti, that lemonade 









156 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


and “lozengers” were not the fittest food for man, oi 
a stifling tent the best place to be in on a hot July day, 
especially in a thunder-storm. 

“I didn’t ask you to come; you asked me; so it 
isn’t my fault,” said Ben, rather grufiiy, as people 
crowded by without pausing to hear the comic song the 
clown was singing in spite of the confusion. 

“Oh, I’m so tired,” groaned Bab, getting up with a 
long stretch of arms and legs. 

“You’ll be tireder before you get home, I guess. 
Nobody asked you to come, any way; ” and Ben gazed 
dolefully round him, wishing he could see a familiar face 
or find a wiser head than his own to help him out of the 
scrape he was in. 

“I said I wouldn’t be a bother, and I won’t. I’ll 
walk right home this minute. I ain’t afraid of thunder, 
and the rain won’t hurt these old clothes. Come along,” 
cried Bab, bravely, bent on keeping her word, though* 
it looked much harder after the fun was all over than 
before. 

“My head aches like fury. Don’t I wish old Jack 
was here to take me back,” said Billy, following his 
companions in misfortune with sudden energy, as a 
louder peal than before rolled overhead. 

“You might as well wish for Lita and the covered 
wagon while you are about it, then we could all 
fide,” answered Ben, leading the way to the outer 
tent, where many people were lingering in hopes ol 
fair weather. 

“Why, Billy Barton, how in the world did you get 
here ? ” cried a surprised voice as the crook of a cane 
caught the boy by the collar and jerked him face to face 





SOMEBODY GETS LOST. 


157 


with a 3’Oiing farmer, who was pushing along, followed 
his wife and two or three children. 

“Oh, Uncle Eben, I’m so glad you found me! I 
walked over, and it’s raining, and I don’t feel well. 
liCt me go with 3'ou, can’t I?” asked Billy, casting 
himself and all his woes upon the strong arm that had 
laid hold of him. 

“ Don’t see what 3’our mother was about to let yon 
come so far alone, and j^ou just over scarlet fever. We 
are as full as ever we can be, but we’ll tuck you in 
somehow,” said the pleasant-faced woman, bundling up 
her bab3", and bidding the two little lads “keep close 
to father.” 

“I didn’t come alone. Sam got a ride, and can’t 
you tuck Ben and Bab in too? They ain’t ver}^ big, 
either of them,” whispered Billy, anxious to serve his 
friends now that he was provided for himself. 

“ Can’t do it, an}" way. Got to pick up mother at 
the corner, and that will be all I can carry. It’s lifting 
a little; hurry along, Lizzie, and let us get out of this 
as quick as possible,” said Uncle Eben, impatiently; 
for going to a circus with a 3"oung famil}" is not an easy 
task, as ever}" one knows who has ever tried it. 

“ Ben, I’m real soriy there isn’t room for you. I’ll 
tell Bab’s mother where she is, and may be some one 
will come for you,” said Billy, hurriedly, as he tore 
himself away, feeling rather mean to desert the others, 
though he could be of no use. 

“Cut away, and don’t mind us. I’m all rignt, and 
Bab must do the best she can,” was all Ben had time 
to answer before his comrade was hustled away by the 
crowd pressing round the entrance with much clashing 




158 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


of umbrellas and scrambling of boys and men, who 
rather enjoyed the flurry. 

“ No use for us to get knocked about in that scrim¬ 
mage. We’ll wait a minute and then go out easy. It’s 
a regular rouser, and you ’ll be as wet as a sop before 
we get home. Hope you’ll like that?” added Ben, 
looking out at the heavy rain pouring down a.s if it 
never meant to stop. 

“ Don’t care a bit,” said Bab, swinging on one of 
the ropes with a happ3^-go-lucky air, for her spirits were 
not extinguished yet, and she was bound to enjoy this 
exciting holiday to the very end. “I like cii'cuses so 
much ! I wish I lived here all the time, and slept in a 
wagon, as you did, and had these dear little colties to 
pla}” with.” 

“It wouldn’t be fun if you didn’t have any folks 
to take care of 3"ou,” began Ben, thoughtlhll^" looking 
about the familiar place where the men were now feed¬ 
ing the animals, setting their refreshment tables, or 
lounging on the ha}^ to get such rest as the^^ could be¬ 
fore the evening entertainment. Suddenly he started, 
gave a long look, then turned to Bab, and thrusting 
Sancho’s strap into her hand, said, hastil^^: “I see a 
fellow I used to know. May be he can tell me some¬ 
thing about father. Don’t j^ou stir till I come back.” 

Then he was off like a shot, and Bab saw him run 
after a man with a bucket who had been watering the 
zebra. Sancho tried to follow, but was checked with 
an impatient, — 

“ No, you can’t go ! What a plague you are, tagging 
around when people don’t want you.” 

Sancho might have answered, “ So are you,” but, 



SOMEBODY GETS LOST. 


159 


being a gentlemanly dog, he sat down with a resigned 
expression to watch the Uttle colts, who were now awake 
and seemed ready for a game of bo-peep behind their 
mammas. Bab enjoyed their funny little frisks so much 
that she tied the wearisome strap to a post, and crept 
under the rope to pet the tiny mouse-colored one who 
came and talked to her with baby whinnies and confid 
ing glances of its soft, dark eyes. 

Oh, luckless Bab ! why did 3^ou turn your back ? Oh, 
too accomplished Sancho ! why did j^ou neatly untie that 
knot and trot away to confer with the disreputable bull 
dog who stood in the entrance beckoning with friendly 
wavings of an abbreviated tail? Oh, much afflicted 
Ben! why did ^^ou delay till it was too late to save 
your pet from the rough man who set his foot upon the 
trailing strap, and led poor Sanch quickly out of sight 
among the crowd. 

“ It was Bascum, but he didn’t know any thing. 
Why, where’s Sanch?” said Ben, returning. 

A breathless voice made Bab turn to see Ben looking 
about him with as much alarm in his hot face as if the 
dog had been a two years’ child. 

“I tied him — he’s here somewhere — with the 
ponies,” stammered Bab, in sudden dismay, for no sign 
of a dog appeared as her eyes roved wildly to and fro. 

Ben whistled, called and searched in vain, till one of 
the lounging men said, lazily, — 

“ If 3^ou are looldng after the big poodle j’ou’d better 
go outside ; I saw him trotting off* with another dog.” 

Away rushed Ben, with Bab following, regardless of 
the ram, for both felt that a great misfortune had be¬ 
fallen them. But, long before this, Sancho had vanished, 





160 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


and no one minded his indignant howls as he was diivcn 
off in a covered cart. 

“ If he is lost I ’ll never forgive you ; never, never, 
never! ” and Ben found it impossible to resist giving 
Bab several hard shakes, which made her yellow braids 
fly up and down like pump handles. 

“I’m dreadful sorry. He ’ll come back — you said 
he always did,” pleaded Bab, quite crushed by her own 
afflictions, and rather scared to see Ben look so fierce, 
for he seldom lost his temper or was rough with the 
little girls. 

“If he doesn’t come back, don’t you speak to me 
for a year. Now, I’m going home.” And, feeling 
that words were powerless to express his emotions, Ben 
walked away, looking as grim as a small boy could. 

A more unhappy little lass is seldom to be found than 
Bab was, as she pattered after him, splashing recklessly 
through the puddles, and getting as wet and muddy as 
possible, as a sort of penance for her sins. For a mile 
or two she trudged stoutly along, while Ben marched 
before in solemn silence, which soon became both im¬ 
pressive and oppressive because so unusual, and such 
a proof of his deep displeasure. Penitent Bab longed 
for just one word, one sign of relenting; and when none 
came, she began to wonder how she could possibly bear 
it if he kept his dreadful threat and did not speak to 
her for a whole year. 

But presently her own discomfort absorbed her, for 
her feet were wet and cold as well as very tired; pop¬ 
corn and peanuts were not particularly nourishing food, 
and hunger made her feel faint; excitement was a new 
thing, and now that it was over she longed to lie down 





SOMEBODY GETS LOST 


161 


and oro to sleep ; then the long walk with a circus at the 
end seemed a very different affair from the homeward 
trip with a distracted mother awaiting her. The shower 
had subsided into a dreary drizzle, a chilly east wind 
blew up, the hilly road seemed to lengthen before the 
weary feet, and the mute, blue flannel figure going on 
80 fast with never a look or sound, added the last touch 
to Bab’s remorseffil anguish. 

Wagons passed, but all were full, and no one offered 
a ride. Men and boys went by with rough jokes on the 
forlorn pair, for rain soon made them look like young 
tramps. But there was no brave Sancho to resent the 
impertinence, and this fact was sadly brought to both 
their minds by the appearance of a great Newfoundland 
dog who came trotting after a carriage. The good 
creature stopped to say a friendly word in his dumb 
fashion, looking up at Bab with benevolent e^^es, and 
poking his nose into Ben’s hand before he bounded away 
with his plumy tail curled over his back. 

Ben started as the cold nose touched his fingers, gave 
the soft head a lingering pat, and watched the dog out 
of sight through a thicker mist than any the rain made. 
But Bab broke down; for the wistful look of the crea¬ 
ture’s eyes reminded her of lost Sancho, and she sobbed 
quietly as she glanced back longing to see the dear old 
fellow jogging along in the rear. 

Ben heard the piteous sound and took a sly peep ovei 
his shoulder, seeing such a mournful spectacle that he 
felt appeased, saying to himself as if to excuse his late 
sternness, — 

“ She is a naughty girl, but I guess she is about sorry 
enough now. When we get to that sign-post I ’ll speak 



UNDER THE LILACS. 


ir>2 

to her, only I won’t forgive her till Sanch comes 
back.” 

But he was better than his word ; for, just before the 
post was reached, Bab, blinded by tears, tripped over 
the root of a tree, and, rolling down the bank, landed 
in a bed of wet nettles. Ben had her out in a jiffy, and 
vainly tried to comfort her ; but she was past any con¬ 
solation he could offer, and roared dismally as she 
wrung her tingling hands, with great drops running 
over her cheeks almost as fast as the muddy little rills 
ran down the road. 

“ Oh dear, oh dear! I’m all stinged up, and I want 
my supper ; and my feet ache, and I’m cold, and every 
thing is so horrid ! ” wailed the poor child lying on the 
grass, such a miserable little wet bunch that the sternest 
parent would have melted at the sight. 

“Don’t cry so, Babby; I was real cross, and I’m 
sorry. I ’ll forgive you right away now, and never 
shake you any more,” cried Ben, so full of pity for her 
tribulations that he forgot his own, like a generous little 
man. 

“ Shake me again, if you want to; I know I was 
very bad to tag and lose Sanch. I never will any more, 
and I’m so sorry, I don’t know what to do,” answered 
Bab, completely bowed down by this magnanimity. 

“ Never mind; you just wipe up your face and come 
along, and we ’ll tell Ma all about it, and she ’ll fix us 
as nice as can be. I shouldn’t wonder if Sanch got 
home now before we did,” said Ben, cheering himself 
as well as her by the fond hope. 

“ I don’t believe I ever shall. I’m so tired my legs 
won’t go, and the water in my boots makes them feel 


SOMEBODY GETS LOST, 


165 


dreadfully. I wish that boy would wheel me a piece. 
Don’t you s’pose he would?” asked Bab, wearily pick¬ 
ing herself up as a tall lad trumlling a barrow came out 
of a yard near by. 

“ Hullo, Joslyn! ” said Ben, recognizing the boy as 
one of the “hill fellows” who came to town Satui-day 
nights for play or business. 

“ Hullo, Brown ! ” responded the other, arresting his 
squeaking progress with signs of surprise at the moist 
tableau before him. 

“Where goin’?” asked Ben witn masculine brevity. 

“ Got to carry this home, hang the old thing! ” 

“ Where to?” 

“ Batchelor’s, down yonder,” and the boy pointed to 
a farm-house at the foot of the next hill. 

“ Goin’ that w^ay, take it right along.” 

“ What for?”questioned the prudent youth, distrust¬ 
ing such unusual neighborliness. 

“She’s tired, wants a ride; I’ll leave it all right, 
true as I live and breathe,” explained Ben, half 
ashamed yet anxious to get his little responsibility 
home as soon as possible, for mishaps seemed to 
thicken. 

“ Ho, you couldn’t cart her all that way! she’s most 
as heavj as a bag of meal,” jeered the taller lad, amused 
at the proposition. 

“I’m stronger than most fellers of my size. Try, 
If I ain’t,” and Ben squared off in such scientific style 
that Joslyn responded with sudden amiability, — 

“ All right, let’s see you do it.” 

Bab huddled into her new equipage without the least 
fear, and Ben trundled her off at a good pace, while the 





164 


UNDER THE LILACS, 


boy retired to the shelter of a barn to watch their prog¬ 
ress, glad to be rid of an irksome errand. 

At first, all went well, for the way was down hill, and 
the wheel squeaked briskly round and round; Bat 
smiled gratefully upon her bearer, and Ben “ went in on 
his muscle with a will,” as he expressed it. But presh 
ently the road grew sandy, began to ascend, and the 
load seemed to grow heavier with every step. 

“ I ’ll get out now. It’s real nice, but I guess I am 
too heavy,” said Bab, as the face before her got redder 
and redder, and the breath began to come in puflTs. 

“ Sit stiU. He said I couldn’t. I’m not going to 
give in with him looking on,” panted Ben, and he pushed 
gallantly up the rise, over the grassy lawn to the side 
gate of the Batchelors’ door-yard, with his head down, 
teeth set, and every muscle of his slender body braced 
to the task. 

“ Did ever ye see the like of that now? Ah, ha I 

* The streets were so wide, and the lanes were so narry, 

He brought his wife home on a little wheelbarry.’ ” 

sung a voice with an accent which made Ben drop his 
load and push back his hat, to see Pat’s red head looking 
over the fence. 

To have his enemy behold him then and there wag 
the last bitter drop in poor Ben’s cup of humiliation. 
A shrill approving whistle from the hill was some com¬ 
fort, however, and gave him spirit to help Bab out with 
composure, though his hands were blistered and he had 
hardly breath enough to issue the command, — 

“ Go along home, and don’t mind him.” 

“Nice childer, ye are, runnin’ ofl^ this way, settin 


SOMEBODY GETS LOST. 


166 


the women disthracted, and me wastin’ me time comm 
after je when I’d be milkin’ airly so 1 ’d get a bit of 
pleasm’e the day,” grumbled Fat, coming up to untie 
the Duke, whose Roman nose Ben had akeady recog¬ 
nized, as well as the roomy chaise standing before the 
door. 

“Did Billy tell you about us?’’asked Bab, gladly 
following toward this welcome refuge. 

“ Faith he did, and the Squire sint me to fetch ye 
home quiet and aisy. When ye found me, I’d jist 
stopi^ed here to borry a light for me pipe. Up wid ye, 
b’y, and not be wastin’ me time stramashin’ after a 
spalpeen that I’d like to lay me whip over,” said Pat, 
griitlly, as Ben came along, having left the barrow in 
the shed. 

“ Don’t you wish you could? You needn’t wait for 
me ; I ’ll come when I’m ready,” answered Ben, dodg¬ 
ing round the chaise, bound not to mind Pat, if he 
spent the night by the road-side in consequence. 

“ Bedad, and I won’t then. It’s lively ye are; but 
four legs is better than two, as ye ’ll find this night, me 
young man.” 

With that he whipped up and was oflT before Bab 
could say a word to persuade Ben to humble himself 
for the sake of a ride. She lamented and Pat chuckled, 
both forgetting what an agile monkey the boy was, and 
as neither looked back, they were unaware that Master 
Ben was hanging on behind among the straps and 
springs, making derisive gi’imaces at his unconscious 
foe thi’ough the little glass in the leathern back. 

At the lodge gate Ben jumped down to run before 
with whoops of naughty satisfaction, which brought the 





1G6 


UNDER THE LILACS, 


anxious waiters to the door in a flock; so Pat could 
only shake his fist at the exulting little rascal as he 
drove away, lea\ing the wanderers to be welcomed as 
warmly as if they were a pair of model children. 

Mrs. Moss had not been very much troubled after all; 
for Cy had told her that Bab went after Ben, and Billy 
had lately reported her safe anival among them, so, 
mother-like, she fed, dried, and warmed the runaways, 
before she scolded them. 

Even then, the lecture was a mild one, for when they 
tried to tell the adventures which to them seemed so ex¬ 
citing, not to say tragical, the effect astonished them 
immensely, as their audience went into gales of laugh¬ 
ter, especially at the wheelbarrow episode, which Bab 
Insisted on telling, with grateful minuteness, to Ben’s 
confusion. Thorny shouted, and even tender-hearted 
Betty forgot her tears over the lost dog to join in the 
familiar melody when Bab mimicked Pat’s quotation 
from Mother Goose. 

“We must not laugh any more, or these naughty 
children will think they have done something very 
clever in running away,” said Miss Celia, when the fun 
subsided, adding soberly, “I am displeased, but I will 
say nothing, for I think Ben is already punished 
enough.” 

“Guess I am,” muttered Ben, with a choke in his 
voice as he glanced toward the empty mat where a dear 
curl} bunch used to lie with a bright eye tw inkling out 
of the middle of it. 


CHAPTER XV. 


BEN^S RIDE. 

G reat was the mourning for Sancho, because his 
talents and virtues made him universally admired 

I and beloved. Miss Celia advertised, Thorny offered 
rewards, and even surly Pat kept a sharp look-out for 
' poodle dogs when he went to market; but no Sancho or 

1 any trace of him appeared. Ben was inconsolable, and 

J sternly said it served Bab right when the cfo^-wood 

» poison affected both face and hands. Poor Bab thought 

so, too, and dared ask no sympathy from him, though 
Thorny eagerly prescribed plantain leaves, and Betty 
kept her supplied -with an endless succession of them 
; steeped in cream and pitying tears. This treatment 

r was so successful that the patient soon took her place 

I in society as well as ever, but for Ben’s affliction there 

V was no cure, and the boy really suffered in his spirits. 

“I don’t think it’s fair that I should have so much 
i trouble, — first losing father and then Sanch. If it 

wasn’t for Lita and Miss Celia, I don’t believe I could 
stand it,” he said, one day, in a fit of despair, about a 
week after the sad event. 

t “ Oh, come now, don’t give up so, old fellow. We’ll 
I find him if he’s alive, and if he isn’t I ’ll try and get 
' you another as good,” answered Thorny, with a friendly 



168 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


slap on the shoulder, as Ben sat disconsolately among 
the beans he had been hoeing. 

“ As if there ever could be another half as good! ” 
cried Ben, indignant at the idea ; “ or as if I’d ever try 
to fill his place with the best and biggest dog that ever 
wagged a tail I No, sir, there’s only one Sanch in all 
the world, and if I can’t have him I ’ll never have a 
dog again.” 

“ Try some other sort of pet, then. You may have 
any of mine you like. Have the peacocks; do now,” 
urged Thorny, full of bopsh sympathy and good-will. 

“ They are di*eadful pretty, but I don’t seem to care 
about ’em, thank you,” replied the mourner. 

“ Have the rabbits, all of them,” which was a hand¬ 
some offer on Thorny’s part, for there were a dozen at 
least. 

“ They don’t love a fellow as a dog does; all they 
care for is stuff to eat and dirt to burrow in. I’m sick 
of rabbits.” And well he might be, for he had had the 
charge of them ever since they came, and any boy who 
ha? ever kept bunnies knows what a care they are. 

“So am I! Guess we’ll have an auction and sell 
out. Would Jack be a comfort to 3^ou? If he will, 
you may have him. I’m so well now, I can walk, or 
ride SLuy thing,” added Thorny, in a burst of generosity. 

“ Jack couldn’t be with me always, as Sanch was, 
and I couldn’t keep him if I had him.” 

Ben tried to be grateful, but nothing short of Lita 
would have healed his wounded heart, and she was not 
Thorny’s to give, or he would probably have offered her 
to his alllicted friend. ^ 

“ Well, no, you couldn’t take Jack to be<l with you. 



£EI>PS RIDE. 


169 


or keep him up in your room, and I’m afraid he would 
never learn to do any thing clever. I do wish I had 
something you wanted, I’d so love to give it to you.” 

lie spoke so heartilj^ and was so kind that Ben looked 
op, feeling that he had given him one of the sweetest 
things in the world — friendship ; he wanted to tell him 
30 , but did not know how to do it, so caught up his hoe 
and fell to work, saying, in a tone Thorny understood 
better than words, — 

“You are real good to me — never mind, I won’t 
won*y about it; only it seems extra hard coming so soon 
after the other — ” 

lie stopped there, and a bright drop fell on the bean 
leaves, to shine like dew till Ben saw clearly enough to 
bury it out of sight in a great hurry. 

“By Jove! I’U find that dog, if he is out of the 
ground. Keep your spirits up, my lad, and we ’ll have 
the dear old fellow back yet.” 

With which cheering prophec}" Thorny went oflT to rack 
his brains as to what could be done about the matter. 

Half an hour afterward, the sound of a hand-organ in 
the avenue roused him from the brown study into which 
he had fallen as he lay on the newly mown grass of the 
lawn. Peeping over the wall. Thorny reconnoitred, 
and, finding the organ a good one, the man a pleasant¬ 
faced Italian, and the monkey a lively animal, he ordered 
them all in, as a delicate attention to Ben, for music 
and monkey together might suggest soothing memories 
of the past, and so be a comfort. 

In they came by way of the Lodge, escorted by Bab 
and Betty, full of glee, for hand-organs were rare in 
tiiose parts, and the children delighted in them. Smil- 
g 





170 


UNDER THJH LILACS. 


Ing till his white teeth shone and his black e3"es sparkled, 
the man plaj^ed away while the monke}^ made his pathetic 
little bows, and picked up the pennies Thorny threw him. 

“ It is warm, and you look tired. Sit down and I ’ll 
get you some dinner,” said the young master, pointing 
to the seat which now stood near the great gate. 

With thanlis in broken English the man gladly obej^ed, 
and Ben begged to be allowed to make Jacko equally 
comfortable, explaining that he knew all about monkeys 
and what they liked. So the poor thing was freed from 
his cocked hat and uniform, fed with bread and milk, 
and allowed to curl himself up in the cool grass for a 
nap, looking so like a tired httle old man in a fur coat 
that the cluldren were never weary of watching him. 

Meantime, Miss Celia had come out, and was talking 
Italian to Giacomo in a way that delighted his homesick 
heart. She had been to Naples, and could understand 
his longing for the lovely city of his birth, so they had 
a little chat in the language which is all music, and the 
good fellow was so gi’ateful that he plaj^ed for the 
children to dance till they were glad to stop, lingering 
afterward as if he hated to set out again upon his lonely, 
dusty walk. 

“ I’d rather like to tramp round with him for a week 
or so. Could make enough to live on as easy as not, it 
i only had Sanch to show off,” said Ben, as he was 
coaxing Jacko into the suit which he detested. 

‘‘ You go wid me, yes?” asked the man, nodding and 
smiling, well pleased at the prospect of company, for 
his quick eye and what the boys let faU in their talk 
showed him that Ben was not one of them. 

“ If I had my dog I’d love to,” and with sad eager- 



BEN^S RIDE. 


Ill 


ness Ben told the tale of Ms loss, for the thought of It 
was never long out of his mind. 

“ I tink I see droll dog like he, waj’off in New York. 
He do leetle trick wid letter, and dance, and go on he 
head, and many tings to make laugh,” said the man, 
when he had listened to a list of Sanch’s beauties and 
accomplishments. 

“Who had him?” asked Thorny, full of interest at 
once. 

“A man I not know. Cross fellow what beat him 
when he do letters bad.” 

“ Did he speU his name?” cried Ben, breathlessly. 

“No; that for why man beat him. He name Gen- 
erale, and he go spell Sancho all times, and cry when 
whip fall on him. Ha! yes! that name true one; not 
Generale?” and the man nodded, waved his hands, 
and showed Ms teeth, almost as much excited as the 
bo3’S. 

“It’s Sanch! let’s go and get him now, nght off! ’' 
cried Ben, in a fever to be gone. 

“ A hundred miles away, and no clew but this man’s 
story? We must wait a little, Ben, and be sure before 
we set out,” said Miss Celia, ready to do almost any 
thing, but not so certain as the boys. “ What sort of 
a dog was it? A large, curly, white poodle, with a 
queer tail?” she asked of Giacomo. 

“ No, Siguorina mia, he no curly, no wite; he black, 
smooth dog, littel tail, small, so; ” and the man held 
up one brown finger with a gesture which suggested a 
short, wagging tail. 

“There, you see how mistaken we were. Dogs are 
often named Sancho, especially Spanish poodles; for 





172 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


the original Sancho was a Spaniard, you know. Tliia 
dog is not ours, and I’m so sorry.” 

The bo3"s’ faces Lad fallen dismally as their hope was 
destroyed ; but Ben would not give up. For him there 
was and could be only one Sancho in the world, and 
his quick wits suggested an explanation which no one 
else thought of. 

“ It may be my dog, — they color ’em as we used to 
paint over trick horses. I told j^ou he was a valuable 
chap, and those that stole him hide him that way, else 
he’d be no use, don’t you see? because we’d know him.’* 
“ But the black dog had no tail,” began Thorny, 
longing to be convinced, but still doubtful. 

Ben shivered as if the mere thought hm’t him, as he 
said, in a grim tone, — 

“ They might have cut Sanch’s off.” 

“ Oh, no ! no! the^^ mustn’t, — they wouldn’t! ” 

“ How could any one be so wicked?” cried Bab and 
Betty, horrified at the suggestion. 

‘‘ You don’t know what such fellows would do to make 
all safe, so they could use a dog to earn their living for 
em,” said Ben, with mj^sterious significance, quite for¬ 
getting in his wrath that he had just proposed to get 
his own living in that way himself. 

“He no your dog? Sorry I not find him for you. 
Addio, signorina! Grazia, signor ! Buon giorno, buon 
giomo! ” and, kissing his hand, the Italian shouldered 
organ and monkey, ready to go. 

Miss Celia detained him long enough to give hir^ 
her address, and beg him to let her know if he met 
poor Sanch in any of his wanderings ; for such itinerant 
showmen often cross each other’s paths. Ben and 


BEN^S RIDE. 


173 


Thorny walked to the school-corner with him, getting 
more exact information about the black dog and hia 
owner, for they had no intention of giving it up so 
soon. 

That very evening. Thorny wrote to a boy cousin in 
New York, giving all the particulars of the case, and 
begging him to hunt up the man, investigate the dog, 
and see that the police made sure that eveiy thing was 
right. Much relieved b}^ this performance, the bo3’8 
waited anxiously for a reply, and when it came found 
little comfort in it. Cousin Horace had done his duty 
like a man, but regretted that he could only report a 
failure. The owner of the black poodle w'as a suspicious 
character, but told a straight story, how he had bought 
the dog from a stranger, and exhibited him with success 
till he was stolen. Knew nothing of his histor}", and 
was very sorry to lose him, for he was a remarkably 
clever beast. 

“ I told my dog-man to look about for him, but he 
saj's he has probably been killed, with ever so many 
more; so there is an end of it, and I call it a mean 
shame.” 

“ Good for Horace ! I told you he’d do it up thor¬ 
oughly and see the end of it,” said Thorny, as he read 
that paragraph in the deeply interesting letter. 

“ May be the end of that dog, but not of mine. I ’ll 
bet he ran away; and if it was Sancli, he ’ll come home. 
You see if he doesn’t!” cried Ben, refusing to believe 
that all was over. 

“A hundred miles off? Oh, he couldn’t find you 
without help, smart as he is,” answ^ered Thorny, in 
credulously 





174 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


Ben looked discouraged, but Miss Celia cheered him 
up again by saying, — 

“Yes, he could. My father had a friend who left 
a little dog in Paris; and the creature found her in 
Milan, and died of fatigue next day. That was very 
wonderful, but true; and I’ve no doubt that if Sanch 
is alive he will come home. Let us hope so, and be 
happy while we wait.” 

“We will! ” said the boys ; and day after day looked 
for the wanderer’s return, kept a bone ready in the old 
place if he should amve at night, and shook his mat to 
keep it soft for his weary bones when he came. But 
weeks passed, and still no Sanch. 

Something else happened, however, so absorbing 
that he was almost forgotten for a time; and Ben 
found a way to repay a part of all he owed his best 
mend. 

Miss Celia went off for a ride one afternoon, and an 
hour afterward, as Ben sat in the porch reading, Lita 
dashed into the yard with the reins dangling aboilt her 
legs, the saddle turned round, and one side covered 
with black mud, showing that she had been down. For 
a minute, Ben’s heart stood still; then he flung away 
his book, ran to the horse, and saw at once by her 
heaving flanks, dilated nostrils, and wet coat, that she 
must have come a long way and at full speed. 

“ She has had a fall, but isn’t hurt or frightened,” 
thought the boy, as the pretty creature rubbed her nose 
against his shoulder, pawed the ground, and champed 
her bit, as if she tried to tell him all about the disaster, 
whatever it was. 

“Lita, where’s Miss Celia?” he asked, looking 


BEN^S RIDE. 


176 


straight into the intelligent eyes, which were troubled 
but not wild. 

Lita threw up her head, and neighed loud and clear, 
as if she called her mistress ; and, turning, would have 
gone again if Ben had not caught the reins and held 
her. 

“All right, we’ll find her;” and, pulling oflT the 
broken saddle, kicking away his shoes, and ramming 
his hat firmly on, Ben was up like a fiash, tingling all 
over with a sense of power as he felt the bare back 
between his knees, and caught the roll of Lita’s eye as 
she looked round with an air of satisfaction. 

“ Hi, there! Mrs. Moss ! Something has happened 
to Miss Celia, and I’m going to find her. Thorny is 
asleep; tell him easy, and I ’ll come back as soon as 
I can! ” 

Then, giving Lita her head, he was ofl* before the 
startled woman had time to do more than wring hei 
hands and cry out, — 

“ Go for the Squire! Oh, what shall we do?” 

As if she knew exactly what was wanted of her, Lita 
went back the way she had come, as Ben could see by 
the fresh, irregular tracks that cut up the road where 
she had galloped for help. For a mile or more they 
went, then she paused at a pair of bars, which were 
let down to allow the carts to pass into the wide hay- 
fields beyond. On she went again, cantering across the 
now-mown turf toward a brook, across which she had 
e\ddently taken a leap before: for, on the further side, 
at a place where cattle went to drink, the mud showed 
ligns of a fall. 

“You were a fool to try there; but where is Miss 




176 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


Celia?” said Ben, who talked to animals as if they 
were people, and was understood much better than 
any one not used to their companionship would im¬ 
agine. 

Now Lita seemed at a loss, and put her head down, 
as if she expected to find her mistress where she had 
left her, somewhere on the ground. Ben called, but 
there was no answer; and he rode slowly along the 
brook-side, looking far and wide with anxious eyes. 

“ May be she wasn’t hurt, and has gone to that house 
to wait,” thought the boy, pausing for a last survey of 
the great, sunny field, which had no place of shelter in 
it but one rock on the other side of the little stream. 
As his eye wandered over it, something dark seemed to 
blow out from behind it, as if the wind played in the 
folds of a skirt, or a human limb moved. Away went 
Lita, and in a moment Ben had found Miss Celia, lying 
in the shadow of the rock, so white and motionless, he 
feared that she was dead. He leaped dowm, touched 
her, spoke to her; and, receiving no answer, rushed 
away to bring a little w'ater in his leaky hat to sprinkle 
in her face, as he had seen them do when any of the 
riders got a fall in the circus, or fainted from exhaus¬ 
tion after they left the ring, where “ do or die ” was the 
motto all adopted. 

In a minute, the blue eyes opened, and she recognized 
the anxious face bending over her, saying faintly, as 
she touched it, — 

“ My good little Ben, I knew you’d find me, — I sent 
Lita for you, —I’m so hurt, I couldn’t come.” 

“Oh, where? What shall I do? Had I better run 
up to the house ? ” asked Ben, overjoyed to hear her 


BEN'S RIDE. 


177 


speak, but much dismayed by her seeming helplessness5 
for he had seen bad falls, and had them, too. 

“ I feel bruised all over, and my arm is broken, I’m 
afraid. Lita tried not to hurt me. She slipped, and 
we went down. I came here into the shade, and the 
pain made me faint, I suppose. Call somebody, and 
get me home.” 

Then she shut her e3'es, and looked so white that Ben 
hurried awaj^, and burst upon old Mrs. Paine, placidly 
knitting at the end door, so suddenly that, as she after¬ 
ward said, “ It sca’t her like a clap o’ thunder.” 

“Ain’t a man nowheres around. All down in the 
big medder gettin’ in hay,” was her reply to Ben’s 
breathless demand for “ everybody to come and see 
to Miss Celia.” 

lie turned to mount, for he had flung himself ofl 
before Lita stopped, but the old lady caught his jacket, 
and asked half a dozen questions in a breath. 

“Who’s 3mir folks? What’s broke? How’d she 
fall ? Where is she ? Why didn’t she come right here ? 
Is it a sunstroke ? ” 

As fast as words could tumble out of his mouth, Ben 
answered, and then tried to free himself; but the old 
lady held on, while she gave her directions, expressed 
her S3mpathy, and offered her hospitality with inco* 
herent warmth. 

“Sakes alive! poor dear! Fetch her right in. 
Liddy, get out the camphire; and, Melissy, you haul 
down a bed to lay her on. Falls is dretful uncert’in 
things; shouldn’t wonder if her back was broke. 
Father’s down 3"euder, and he and Bijah will see 
to her. You go call ’em, and I’ll blow the horn to 

8* L 











178 


UNDER THE LILACS, 


start ’em up. Tell her we’d be pleased to see her, 
and it won’t make a mite of trouble.” 

Ben heard no more, for as Mrs. Paine turned to take 
down the tin horn he was up and away. 

Several long and dismal toots sent Lita galloping 
through the grassy path as the sound of the trumpet 
excites a war-horse, and “father and Bijah,” alarmed 
by the signal at that hour, leaned on then’ rakes to sur¬ 
vey with wonder the distracted-looking httle horseman 
approaching hke a whirlwind. 

“Guess likely grandpa’s had ’nother stroke. Told 
’em to send over soon’s ever it come,” said the fanner, 
calmly. 

“Shouldn’t wonder ef suthing was afire some’r’s,” 
conjectured the hired man, surveying the horizon for a 
cloud of smoke. 

Instead of advancing to meet the messenger, both 
stood like statues in blue overalls and red flannel shirts, 
till the boy arrived and told his tale. 

“ Sho, that’s bad,” said the farmer, anxiously. 

“That brook always was the darndest place,” added 
Bijah; then both men bestirred themselves helpfully, 
the former hurrying to Miss Celia while the latter 
brought up the cart and made a bed of hay to lay 
her on. 

“ Now then, boy, you go for the doctor. My woraec 
fo''ks will see to the lad^’^, and she’d better keep quiet 
up yender till we see what the matter is,” said the 
farmer, when the pale giii was lifted in as carefully as 
four strong arms could do it. “ Hold on,” he added, 
as Ben made one leap to Lita’s back. “You’ll have 
to go to Berryville. Dr. Mills is a master hand for 






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Ben and Lita. 

“ But Ben did not hear her, for he was off across the fields, riding as 
if life and death depended upon his speed.” — Page 179. 






















































































BEJSrS RIDE. 


179 


broken bones and old Dr. Babcock ain’t. ’Tisn’t bul 
about tliree mile from here to his house, and you’ll 
fetch him ’fore there’s any harm done waitin’.” 

“ Don’t kill Lita,” called Miss Celia from the cart, as 
it, began to move. 

But Ben did not hear her, for he was off across the 
fields, riding as if life and death depended upon liia 
speed. 

“ That boy will break his neck! ” said Mr. Paine, 
standing still to watch horse and rider go over the wall 
as if bent on instant destruction. 

“No fear for Ben, he can ride any thing, and Lita 
was trained to leap,” answered Miss Celia, falling back 
on the hay with a groan, for she had involuntarily 
raised her head to see her little squire dash away in 
gallant style. 

“ I should hope so ; regular jockey, that boy. Never 
see any thing like it out of a race-ground,” and Farmer 
Paine strode on, still following with his eye the figures 
that went thundering over the bridge, up the hill, out 
of sight, leaving a cloud of dust behind. 

Now that his mistress was safe, Ben enjoyed that 
wild ride mightily, and so did the bay mare; for Lita 
had good blood in her, and proved it that day by doing 
her three miles in a wonderfully short time. People 
jogging along in wagons and country carry-alls, stared 
Amazed as the reckless pair went by. Women, pla¬ 
cidly doing their afternoon sewing at the front windows, 
dropped their needles to run out with exclamations of 
alarm, sure some one was being run away with; chil¬ 
dren playing by the roadside scattered like chickens 
before a hawk as Ben passed with a warning whoop. 




180 UNDER THE LILACS^ 

and bab3^-carriages were scrambled into door-yards with 
perilous rapidity at his approach. 

But when he clattered into town, intense interest was 
felt in this barefooted boy on the foaming steed, and a 
dozen voices asked, “Who’s killed?” as he pulled up 
at the doctor’s gate. 

“Jest di’ove off that way; Mrs. Flynn’s baby’s in a 
fit,” cried a stout lady from the piazza, never ceasing 
to rock, though several passers-by paused to hear the 
news, for she was a doctor’s wife, and used to the 
arrival of excited messengers from all quarters at all 
hours of the day and night. 

Deigning no reply to an}^ one, Ben rode awa}", wish¬ 
ing he could leap a ^^awning gulf, scale a precipice, or 
ford a raging torrent, to prove his devotion to Miss 
Ceha, and his skill in horsemanship. But no dangers 
beset his path, and he found the doctor pausing to 
water his tii’ed horse at the veiy trough where Bab and 
Sancho had been discovered on that ever-memorable 
day. The story was quicklj" told, and, promising to be 
there as soon as possible. Dr. Mills drove on to relieve 
baby Fhmn’s inner man, a little disturbed by a bit of 
soap and several buttons, upon which he had privately 
lunched while his mamma was busy at the wash-tub. 

Ben thanked his stars, as he had already done more 
than once, that he knew how to take care of a horse; 
for he dela^^ed by the watering-place long eiiougli to 
wash out Lita’s mouth with a handful of wet grass, 
to let her have one swallow to clear her dusW throat, 
and then went slowl}" back over the breez}^ hills, pat¬ 
ting and praising the good creature for her intelligence 
and speed. She knew well enough that she had been 



BEN^S RIDE, 


181 


a clever little mare, and tossed her head, arched her 
glossy neck, and ambled daintily along, as conscious 
and coquettish as a prett}^ woman, looking round at 
her admiring rider to return his compliments by glances 
cl' affection, and caressing sniffs of a velvet nose at his 
bare feet. 

Miss Celia had been laid comfortably in bed by the 
fanner’s wife and daughter ; and, when the doctor 
arrived, bore the setting of her arm bravely. No other 
serious damage appeared, and bruises soon heal, so 
Ben was sent home to comfort Thorny with a good 
report, and ask the squire to drive up in his big 
carry-all for her the next day, if she was able to 
be moved. 

Mrs. Moss had been wise enough to say nothing, but 
quietly made what j)reparations she could, and waited 
for tidings. Bab and Betty were awny berrying, so no 
one had alarmed Thorny, and he had his afternoon nap 
in peace, — an unusually long one, owing to the stillness 
which prevailed in the absence of the children; and 
when he awoke he lay reading for a while before he 
began to wonder where every one was. Lounging out 
to see, he found Ben and Lita reposing side by side on 
the fresh straw in the loose box, which had been made 
for her in the coach-house. By the pails, sponges and 
curry-combs lying about, it was evident that she had 
been refreshed by a careful washing and rubbing 
down, and my lady was now luxuriously resting after 
her labors, with her devoted groom half asleep close 

by- 

“Well, of all queer boys you are the queerest, to 
spend this hot afternoon fussing over Lita, just for the 





182 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


ftin of it!” cried Thorny, looking in at them with 
much amusement. 

“ If you knew what we’d been doing 3’ou’d think I 
ought to fuss over her, and both of us had a light to 
rest! ” answered Ben, rousing up as bright as a button ; 
for he longed to tell his thrilling tale, and had with 
difficulty been restrained from bui’sting in on Thorny as 
Boon as he arrived. 

He made short work of the story, but was quite satis¬ 
fied with the sensation it produced ; for his hstener w^as 
startled, relieved, excited and charmed, in such rapid 
succession, that he was obliged to sit upon the meal- 
chest and get his breath before he could exclaim, with 
an emphatic demonstration of his heels against the 
bin, — 

“Ben Brown, I’ll never forget what 3"Ou’ve done 
for Celia this da3", or say ‘ bow-legs ’ again as long as 
I live! ” 

“ George! I felt as if I had six legs when we were 
going the pace. We were all one piece, and had a jolly 
spin, didn’t we, my beauty?” and Ben chuckled as he 
took Lita’s head in his lap, while she answered with a 
gusty sigh that nearly blew him away. 

“Like the feUow that brought the good news from 
Ghent to Aix,” said Thorny, surv^eying the recumbent 
pair with great admiration. 

“ What fellow ? ” asked Ben, wondering if he didn’t 
mean Sheridan, of whose ride he had heard. 

“ Don’t you know that piece? I spoke it at school. 
Give it to you now ; see if it isn’t a rouser.” 

And, glad to find a vent for his excitement. Thorny 
mounted the meal-chest, to thunder out that stirring 


BEN^S RIDE. 


183 


ballad with such spirit that Lita pricked up her cars 
and Ben gave a shrill “Hooray!” as the last verse 
ended. 

“ And all I remember is friends flocking round, 

As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground, 

And no voice but was praising tliis Roland of mine, 

As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine. 

Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) 

Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent." 





CHAPTER XVI. 


DETECTIVE THORNTON. 

FEW days later, Miss Celia was able to go about 



^th her arm in a sling, pale stiU, and rather stiff, 
but so much better than any one expected, that all 
agreed Mr. Paine was right in pronouncing Dr. Mills 
“ a master hand with broken bones.” Two devoted 
little maids waited on her, two eager pages stood ready 
to run her errands, and friendly neighbors sent in 
delicacies enough to keep these four young persons 
busily employed in disposing of them. 

Every afternoon the great bamboo lounging chair 
was brought out and the interesting invalid conducted 
to it by stout Randa, who was head nurse, and followed 
by a ti’ain of shawl, cushion, foot-stool and book 
bearers, who buzzed about like swaimiing bees round a 
new queen. When all were settled, the little maids 
sewed and the pages read aloud, with much conversa¬ 
tion by the way; for one of the rules was, that aU 
should listen attentively, and if any one did not under¬ 
stand what was read, he or she should ask to have it 
explained on the spot. Whoever could answer was in¬ 
vited to do so, and at the end of the reading Miss Celia 
could ask any she liked, or add any explanations which 
seemed necessary. In this way much pleasure and 


DETECTIVE THORNTON. 


185 


profit was extracted from the tales Ben and Thorny 
read, and much unexpected knowledge as well as ignor¬ 
ance displayed, not to mention piles of neatly hemmed 
towels for which Bab and Betty were paid like regular 
sewing-women. 

So vacation was not all play, and the girls found 
their picnics, berry parties, and “goin* a visitin’,” all 
the more agreeable for the quiet hour spent with Miss 
Celia. Thorn}^ had improved wonderfully, and was get¬ 
ting to be quite energetic, especially since his sister’s 
accident; for while she was laid up he was the head of 
the house, and much enjoyed his promotion. But Ben 
did not seem to flourish as he had done at first. The 
loss of Sancho preyed upon him sadly, and the longing 
to go and find his dog grew into such a strong tempta¬ 
tion that he could hardly resist it. He said little about 
it; but now and then a word escaped him which might 
have enlightened any one who chanced to be watching 
him. No one was, just then, so he brooded over this 
fancy, da}" by day, in silence and solitude, for there was 
no riding and driving now. Thorny was busy with his 
sister tr}ing to show her that he remembered how good 
she had been to him when he was ill, and the little girls 
had their own aflfaii’s. 

Miss Celia was the first to observe the change, having 
nothing to do but lie on the sofa and amuse herself by 
seeing others work or play. Ben was bright enough 
at the readings, because then he forgot his troubles ; but 
when they were over and his various duties done, he 
went to his own room or sought consolation with Lita, 
being sober and quiet, and quite unlike the merry 
monkey all knew and liked so well. 






186 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


“ Thorn}^ what is the matter with Ben? ’’ asked Miss 
Celia, one day, w^hen she and her brother were alone in 
the “ green parlor,” as they called the hlac-tree walk. 

“ Fretting about Sanch, I suppose. I declare I wish 
that dog had never been born! Losing him has jusl 
spoilt Ben. Not a bit of fun left in him, and he won’t 
have any thing I offer to cheer him up.” 

Thorny spoke impatiently, and knit his brows ovei 
the pressed flowers he was neatly gumming into his 
herbal. 

“I wonder if he has any thing on his mind? He 
acts as if he was hiding a trouble he didn’t dare to teU. 
Have you talked with him about it ? ” asked Miss Celia, 
looking as if she was hiding a trouble she did not like to 
tell. 

“ Oh, yes, I poke him up now and then, but he gets 
peppery, so I let him alone. May be he is longing for his 
old circus again. Shouldn’t blame him much if he was ; 
it isn’t very lively here, and he’s used to excitement, 
you know.” 

“ I hope it isn’t that. Do you think he would slip 
away without telling us, and go back to the old life 
again ? ” 

“ Don’t believe he would. Ben isn’t a bit of a sneak, 
that’s why I like him.” 

“ Have you ever found him sly or untrue in any way ? ’ 
asked Miss Celia, lowering her voice. 

“ No ; he’s as fair and square a fellow as I ever saw. 
Little bit low, now and then, but he doesn’t mean it, 
and wants to be a gentleman, only he never lived with 
one before, and it’s ail new to him. I ’ll get him 
polished up after a while.” 


DETECTIVE THORNTON, 


187 


“ Oh, Thorny, there are three peacocks on the place, 
and you are the finest I ” laughed Miss Celia, as her 
brother spoke in his most condescending way with a lift 
of the e^^ebrows very droll to see. 

“And two donkeys, and Ben’s the biggest, not to 
know when he is well off and happy I ” retorted the 
“ gentleman,” slapping a dried specimen on the page as 
if he were pounding discontented Ben. 

“ Come here and let me tell you something which 
worries me. I would not breathe it to another soul, but 
I feel rather helpless, and I dare say you can manage 
the matter better than I.” 

Looking much m^^stified. Thorny went and sat on the 
stool at his sister’s feet, while she whispered confiden¬ 
tially in his ear: “I’ve lost some money out of my 
drawer, and I’m so afraid Ben took it.” 

“ But it’s always locked up and you keep the keys of 
the drawer and the little room ? ” 

“ It is gone, nevertheless, and I’ve had my kej^s safe 
all the time.” 

“But why think it is he any more than Banda, or 
Katy, or me ? ” 

“ Because I trust you three as I do myself. I ve 
known the giils for years, and you have no object in 
taking it since aU I have is yours, dear.” 

“ And aU mine is yours, of course. But, Celia, how 
could he do it? lie can’t pick locks, I know, for we 
fussed over my desk together, and had to break it after 
aU.” 

“I never really thought it possible till to-day when 
you were placing ball and it went in at the upper win¬ 
dow, and Ben climbed up the porch at^^er it; you re- 





188 


UNDER THE LILAC8. 


member you said, ‘ If it had gone in at the garret gable 
you couldn’t have done that so well; ’ and he answered, 
‘Yes, I could, there isn’t a spout I can’t shin up, or a 
bit of this roof I haven’t been over.’ ” 

“ So he did; but there is no spout near the little room 
window.” 

“ There is a tree, and such an agile boy as Ben could 
swing in and out easily. Now, Thorny, I hate to think 
this of him, but it has happened twice, and for his own 
sake I must stop it. If he is planning to run away, 
money is a good thing to have. And he may feel that 
it is his own; for you know he asked me to put his 
wages in the bank, and I did. He may not like to come 
to me for that, because he can give no good reason for 
wanting it. I’m so troubled I really don’t know what 
to do.” 

She looked troubled, and Thorny put his arms about 
her as If to keep all worries but his own away from her. 

“ Don’t you fret, Cely, dear; you leave it to me. I ’U 
fix him — ungrateful little scamp I ” 

“ That is not the way to begin. I am afraid you will 
make him angiy and hurt his feelings, and then we can 
do nothing.” 

“ Bother his feelings 1 I shall just B&y, cahnly and 
coolly: ‘ Now, look here, Ben, hand over the money you 
took out of my sister’s drawer, and we ’ll let you off 
easy,’ or something like that.” 

“ It wouldn’t do. Thorny ; his temper would be up in 
a minute, and away he would go before we could find 
out whether he was guilty or not. I wish I knew how 
to manage.” 

“ Let me think,” and Thorny leaned his chin on the 


DETECTIVE TIIOiiNTON. 


189 


arm of the chair, staring hard at the knocker as if he 
expected the lion’s mouth to open with words of counsel 
then and there. 

“By Jove, I do believe Ben took it!” he broke out 
suddenly; “for when I went to his room this morning 
to see why he didn’t come and do my boots, he shut the 
drawer in his bureau as quick as a flash, and looked red 
and queer, for I didn’t knock, and sort of startled him.” 

“He wouldn’t be likely to put stolen money there. 
Ben is too wise for that.” 

“ He wouldn’t keep it there, but he might be looking 
at it and pitch it in when I called. He’s hardly spoken 
to me since, and when I asked him what his flag was at 
half-mast for, he wouldn’t answer. Besides, you know 
in the reading this afternoon he didn’t listen, and when 
you asked what he was thinking about, he colored up 
and muttered something about Sanch. I tell yon, Celia, 
it looks bad — very bad,” and Thorny shook his head 
with a wise air. 

“ It does, and yet we may be all wrong. Let us 
wait a little and give the poor boy a chance to clear 
himself before we speak. I’d rather lose my money 
than suspect him falsely.” 

‘‘How much was it?” 

“Eleven dollars; a one went first, and I supposed 
I’d miscalculated somewhere when I took some out; 
but when I missed a ten, I felt that I ought not to let it 
pass.” 

“Look here, sister, yon just put the case into my 
hands and let me work it up. I won’t say anything to 
Ben till you give the word ; but I ’ll watch him, and now 
that my eyes are open, it won’t be easy to deceive me '* 




190 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


Thorny was evidently pleased with the new play of 
detective, and intended to distinguish himself in that ^ 
line ; but when Miss Celia asked how he meant to begin, 
he could only respond with a blank expression : “ Don’t 
know! You give me the keys and leave a bill or two 
in the drawer, and may be I can find him out somehow.” 

So the keys were given, and the little di’essing-room 
where the old secretary stood was closely watched for a 
day or two. Ben cheered up a trifle, which looked as if 
he knew an eye was upon him, but otherwise he went 
on as usual, and Miss Celia, feeling a little guilty at 
even harboring a suspicion of him, was kind and patient 
with his moods. 

Thorny was very funny in the unnecessary mystery 
and fuss he made; his afiTectation of careless indiffer¬ 
ence to Ben’s movements and his clumsy attempts to 
watch every one of them; his dodgings up and down 
stairs, ostentatious clanking of keys, and the elaborate 
traps he set to catch his thief, such as throwing his ball 
in at the dressing-room Tvundow and sending Ben up the 
tree to get it, which he did, thereby proving beyond a 
doubt that he alone could have taken the money, Thorny 
thought. Another deep discovery was, that the old 
drawer was so shrunken that the lock could be pressed 
down by slipping a knife-blade between the hasp and 
socket. 

“ Now it is as clear as day, and you’d better let me 
speak,” he said, full of pride as well as regret, at this 
triumphant success of his first attempt as a detective. 

“Not yet, and you need do nothing more. I’m 
afraid it was a mistake of mine to let you do this ; and 
if it has spoiled your friendship with Ben, I shall be I 




DETECTIVE THORNTON, 


19l 


vei*y sorry; for I do not think he is guilty,** answered 
Miss Celia. 

“ Why not? ** and Thorny looked annoyed. 

“ I’ve watched also, and he doesn’t act like a deceit* 
ful boy. To-day I asked him if he wanted any money, or 
should I put what I owe him with the rest, and he looked 
me straight in the face with such honest, grateful eyes, I 
C50uld not doubt him when he said: ‘ Keep it, please, I 
don’t need any thing here, you are all so good to me.” 

“ Now, Celia, don’t you be soft-hearted. He’s a sly 
little dog, and knows my eye is on him. When I asked 
him what he saw in the dressing-room, after he brought 
out the ball, and looked sharply at him, he laughed, 
and said : ‘ Only a mouse,’ as saucy as you please.” 

‘‘Do set the trap there, I heard the mouse nibbling 
last night, and it kept me awake. We must have a cat 
or we shall be overrun.” 

“Well, shall I give Ben a good blowing up, or will 
you ? ” asked Thorny, scorning such poor prey as mice, 
and bound to prove that he was in the right. 

“ I ’ll let you know what I have decided in the morn¬ 
ing. Be kind to Ben, meantime, or I shall feel as if I 
had done you harm by letting you watch him.” 

Sc it was left for that day, and by the next. Miss 
Celia had made up her mind to speak to Ben. She was 
just going down to breakfast when the sound of loud 
voices made her pause and listen. It came from Ben’s 
room, where the two boys seemed to be disputing about 
something. ' 

“ I hope Thorny has kept his promise,” she thought, 
and hurried through the back entry, fearing a general 
explosion 



192 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


Ben’s chamber was at the end, and she could see and 
hear what was going on before she was near enough to 
interfere. Ben stood against his closet door looking 
as fierce and red as a turkey-cock; Thorny sternly con¬ 
fronted him, saying in an excited tone, and with a 
threatening gesture: “You are hiding something in 
there, and you can’t deny it.” 

“I don’t.” 

“ Better not; I insist on seeing it.” 

“ Well, you won’t.” 

“ What have you been stealing now?” 

“ Didn’t steal it, — used to be mine, — I only took 
it when I wanted it.” 

“ I know what that means. You’d better give it 
back or I ’ll make you.” > 

“ Stop ! ” cried a third voice, as Thorny put out his 
arm to clutch Ben, who looked ready to defend himself 
to the last gasp. “ Boys, I will settle this afl^air. Is 
there any thing hidden in the closet, Ben?” and Miss 
Celia came between the belligerent parties with her one 
hand up to part them. 

Thorny fell back at once, looking half ashamed of his 
heat, and Ben briefly answered, with a gulp as if shame 
or anger made it hard to speak steadily: 

“Yes’m, there is.” 

“ Does it belong to you?” 

“ Yes’m, it does.” 

“ Where did you get it? ” 

“ Up to Squire’s.” 

“ That’s a lie! ” muttered Thorny to himself. 

Ben’s eye flashed, and his fist doubled up in spite of 
him, but he restrained himself out of respect foi Misa 


DETECTIVE THORNTON. 


193 


Celia, who looked puzzled, as she asked another ques¬ 
tion, not quite sure how to proceed with the investiga¬ 
tion ; “ Is it money, Ben?” 

“ No’m, it isn’t. 

“ Then what can it be ? ” 

“ Meow! ” answered a fourth voice from the closet, 
and as Ben flung open the door a gi*ay kitten walked 
out, purring with satisfaction at her release. 

Miss Celia fell into a chair and laughed till her eyes 
were full; Thorny looked flDolish, and Ben folded his 
arms, curled up his nose, and regarded his accuser with 
cahn defiance, while pussy sat down to wash her face as 
if her morning toUette had been interrupted by her 
sudden abduction. 

“That’s all very well, but it doesn’t mend matters 
much, so you needn’t laugh, Celia,” began Thorny, re¬ 
covering himself^ and stubbornly bent on sifting the 
case to the bottom, now he had begun. 

“Well, it would, if you’d let a feller alone. She 
said she wanted a cat, so I went and got the one they 
gave me when I was at the Squire’s. I went early and 
took her without asking, and I had a right to,” explained 
Ben, much aggrieved by having his surprise spoiled. 

“It was very kind of you, and I’m glad to have this 
nice kitty. We will shut her up in my room to catch 
the mice that plague me,” said Miss Celia, picking up 
the little cat, and wondering how she would get her two 
angry boys safely down stairs. 

“ The dressing-room, she means; you know the way, 
and you don’t need keys to get in,” added Thorny, with 
such sarcastic emphasis that Ben felt some insult was 
intended, and promptly resented it. 






194 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


‘‘ Tou won’t get me to climb any more trees after 
your balls, and my cat won’t catch any of your mice, so 
you needn’t ask me.” 

“Cats don’t catch thieves, and they are what I’m 
after! ” 

“ What do you mean by that ? ” fiercely demanded Ben. 

“ Celia has lost some money out of her drawer, and 
you won’t let me see what’s in yours; so I thought, 
perhaps, you’d got it! ” blurted out Thorny, finding it 
hard to say the words, angry as he was, for the face 
opposite did not look like a guilty one. 

For a minute, Ben did not seem to understand him, 
plainly as he spoke; then he turned an angry scarlet, 
and, with a reproachful glance at his mistress, opened 
the little drawer so that both could see all that it con¬ 
tained. 

“ They ain’t anj" thing ; but I’m fond of ’em — they 
are all 1 ’ve got — I was afraid he’d laugh at me that 
time, so I wouldn’t let him look — it w'as father’s birth¬ 
day, and I felt bad about him and Sanch — ” 

Ben’s indignant voice got more and more indistinct 
as he stumbled on, and broke down over the last words. 
He did not cry, however, but threw back his little treas¬ 
ures as if half their sacredness was gone ; and, making 
a strong effort at self-control, faced around, asking of 
Miss Celia, with a grieved look, — 

“ Did you think I’d steal an}" thing of yours?” 

“ I tried not to, Ben, but w-hat could I do? It was 
gone, and you the only stranger about the place.” 

“ Wasn’t there any one to think bad of but me?” he 
said, so soiTow"fully that Miss Celia made up her mind 
on the spot that he was as innocent of the theft as the 


DETECTIVE THORNTOJ^. 


195 


kitten now biting her buttons, no other refreshment 
being offered. 

“Nobody, for I know my girls well. Yet, eleven 
dollars are gone, and I cannot imagine where or how; 
for both drawer and door are always locked, because 
my papers and valuables are in that room.” 

“ What a lot! But how could I get it if it was 
locked up?” and Ben looked as if that question was 
unanswerable. 

“ Folks that can climb in at windows for a ball, can 
go the same way for money, and get it easy enough 
when they Ve only to pry open an old lock ! ” 

Thorny’s look and tone seemed to make plain to Ben 
all that they had been suspecting, and, being innocent, 
he was too perplexed and unhappy to defend himself. 
His eye went from one to the other, and, seeing doubt 
in both faces, his bojish heart sunk within him ; for he 
could prove nothing, and his first impulse was to go 
away at once. 

“ I can’t say any thing, only that I didn't take the 
money. You won’t believe it, so I’d better go back 
where I come from. They weren’t so kind, but they 
trusted me, and knew I wouldn’t steal a cent. You 
may keep my money, and the kitty, too; I don’t want 
’em,” and, snatching up his hat, Ben would have gone 
straight away, if Thorny had not baiTed his passage. 

“ Come, now, don’t be mad. Let’s talk it over, and 
if I’m wrong I ’ll take it all back and ask your pardon,” 
he said, in a friendly tone, rather scared at the conse¬ 
quences of his first attempt, though as sure as ever that 
he was right. 

“ It would break mj heart to have you go in that 


196 


UNDER THE LILACS, 


way, Ben. Stay at least till your innocence is proved, 
then no one can doubt what you say now.” 

“Don’t see how it can be proved,” answered Ben, 
appeased by her evident desire to trust him. 

“We’ll try as well as we know how, and the first 
thing we will do is to give that old secretary a good 
rummage from top to bottom. I ’ve done it once, but 
it is just possible that the bills may have slipped out of 
sight. Come, now, I can’t rest till I’ve done all I can 
to comfort you and convince Thorny.” 

Miss Celia rose as she spoke, and led the way to the 
dressing-room, which had no outlet except through her 
chamber. Still holding his hat, Ben followed with a 
troubled face, and Thorny brought up the rear, dog¬ 
gedly determined to keep his eye on “ the little scamp” 
till the matter was satisfactorily cleared up. Miss 
Celia had made her proposal more to soothe the feel¬ 
ings of one boy and to employ the superfluous energies 
of the other, than in the expectation of throwing any 
light upon the mystery; for she was sadly puzzled by 
Ben’s manner, and much regretted that she had let her 
brother meddle in the matter. 

“There,” she said, unlocking the door with the key 
Thorny reluctantly gave up to her, “ this is the room 
and that is the drawer on the right. The lower ones 
have seldom been opened since we came, and hold only 
some of papa’s old books. Those upper ones you may 
turn out and investigate as much as you — Bless 
me! here’s something in your trap. Thorny! ” and 
Miss Celia gave a little skip as she nearly trod on a 
long, gray tail, which hung out of the hole now filled 
by a plump mouse. 


DETECTIVE THORNTON. 


197 


But her brother was intent on more serious things, 
and merely pushed the trap aside as he pulled out the 
drawer with an excited gesture, which sent it and all its 
contents clattering to the floor. 

“ Confound the old thing I It always stuck so I had 
to give a jerk. Now, there it is, topsy-turvy!” and 
Thorny looked much disgusted at his own awkwaid- 
ness. 

“No harm done ; I left nothing of value in it. Look 
back there, Ben, and see if there is room for a paper 
to get worked over the top of the drawer. I felt quite 
a crack, but I don’t beheve it is possible for things to 
shp out; the place was never full enough to overflow in 
any way.” 

Miss Ceha spoke to Ben, who was kneeling down 
to pick up the scattered papers, among which were two 
marked dollar bills, — Thorny’s bait for the thief. Ben 
looked into the dusty recess, and then put in his hand, 
saying carelessly, — 

“ There’s nothing but a bit of red stuff.” 

“My old pen-wiper— Why, what’s the matter?” 
asked Miss Celia, as Ben di’opped the handful of what 
looked like rubbish. 

“ Something warm and wiggly inside of it,” answered 
Ben, stooping to examine the contents of the little scar¬ 
let bundle. “Baby mice I Ain’t they funny? Look 
just like mites of young pigs. We’ll have to kill ’em 
if you’ve caught their mammy,” he said, forgetting his 
own trials in boyish curiosity about his “ find.” 

Miss Ceha stooped also, and gently poked the red 
cradle with her finger; for the tinj^ mice were nest- 
hng deeper into the fluff with small squeaks of alarm 





198 


UNDER THE LILACS, 


Suddenly she cried out: “Boys, boys, IVe found the 
thief! Look here; pull out these bits and see if they 
won’t make up my lost bills.” 

Down went the motherless babies as four ruthless 
hands pulled apart their cosey nest, and there, among 
the nibbled fragments, appeared enough finely printed, 
gi'cenish paper, to piece out parts of two bank bills. 
A large cypher and part of a figure one were visible, 
and that accounted for the ten ; but though there were 
other bits, no figures could be found, and they were 
willing to take the other bill on trust. 

“Now, then, am I a thief and a liar?” demanded 
Ben, pointing proudly to the tell-tale letters spread 
forth on the table, over which all three had been eagerly 
bending. 

“No; I beg your pardon, and I’m ver}^ sorry that 
we didn’t look more carefully before we spoke, then we 
all should have been spared this pain.” 

“ All right, old fellow, forgive and fbrget. I ’U never 
think hard of you again, — on my honor I won’t.” 

As they spoke. Miss Ceha and her brother held out 
their hands frankly and heartily. Ben shook both, but 
with a difference; for he pressed the soft one grate¬ 
fully, remembering that its owner had always been 
good to him; but the brown paw he gripped with a 
vengefhl squeeze that made Thorny pull it away in a 
hurry, exclaiming, good-naturedly, in spite of both 
physical and mental discomfort, — 

“Come, Ben, don’t you bear malice ; for you’ve 
got the laugh on your side, and we feel pretty small. 
I do, any way ; for, after my fidgets, all 1 ’ve caught is 
a mouse! ” 


DETECTIVE THORNTON. 


199 


“ And her family. I'm so relieved I'm almost sorry 
the poor little mother is dead — she and her babies 
were so happy in the old pen-wiper,” said Miss Celia, 
hastening to speak merrily, for Ben still looked indig¬ 
nant, and she was much grieved at what had happened. 

“ A pretty expensive house,” began I'horny, looking 
about for the interesting orphans, who had been left on 
the floor while their paper-hangings were examined. 

No further anxiety need be felt for them, however < 
Kitty had come upon the scene, and as judge, jury, 
and prisoner, turned to And the little witnesses, they 
beheld the last pink mite going down Pussy’s throat in 
one mouthful. 

“I call that summary justice,—the whole family 
executed on the spot I Give Kit the mouse also, and 
let us go to breakfast. I feel as if I had found my 
appetite, now this worry is off my mind,” said Miss 
Celia, laughing so infectiously that Ben had to join in 
spite of himself, as she took his arm and led him away 
with a look which mutely asked his pardon over again. 

“ Rather lively for a funeral procession,” said Thorny, 
following with the trap in his hand and Puss at his 
heels, adding, to comfort ^his pride as a detective ; 

Well, I said I’d catch the thief, and I have, though 
It is rather a small one I ” 





CHAPTER XVII. 


BETTY’S BRAVERY. 

ELIA, I’ve a notion that we ought to give 



Ben something. A sort of peace-offering, you 
know; for he feels dreadfully hurt about our suspecting 
him,” said Thorny, at dinner that day. 

“I see he does, though he tries to seem as bright 
and pleasant as ever. I do not wonder, and I’ve been 
thinking what I could do to soothe his feelings. Can 
you suggest any thing ? ” 

“ Cuff-buttons. I saw some jolly ones over at Berry- 
ville, — oxidized silver, with dogs’ heads on them, yel¬ 
low eyes, and all as natural as could be. Those, now, 
would just suit him for his go-to-meeting white shirts, 
■— neat, appropriate, and in memoriam.’* 

Miss Celia could not help laughing, it was such a 
boyish suggestion ; but she agreed to it, thinking Thorny 
knew best, and hoping the yellow-eyed dogs would be 
as balm to Ben’s wounds. 

“ Well, dear, you may give those, and Lita shall give 
the little whip with a horse’s foot for a handle, if it is 
not gone. I saw it at the harness shop in town; and 
Ben admired it so much that I planned to give it to him 
on his birthda 3 ^” 

“ That will tickle him immensely ; and if you’d just 


BETTTS BRAVERY. 


201 


let him put brown tops to my old boots, and stick a 
cockade in his hat when he sits up behind the phaeton, 
he’d be a happy fellow:” laughed Thorny, who had 
discovered that one of Ben’s ambitions was to be a 
‘ tip-top groom.” 

“No, thank you; those things are out of place in 
America, and would be absurd in a small country place 
like this. His blue suit and straw hat please me better 
for a boy; though a nicer little groom, in hvery or out, 
no one could desire, and you may tell him I said so.” 

“I will, and he’ll look as proud as Punch; for he 
thinks every word you say worth a dozen from any one 
else. But won’t you give him something? Just some 
little trifle, to show that we are both eating humble pie 
feeling sorry about the mouse money.” 

“I shall give him a set of school-books, and try to 
get him ready to begin when vacation is over. An 
education is the best present we can make him ; and I 
want you to help me fit him to enter as well as we can. 
Bab and Betty began, little dears,—lent him their 
books and taught all they knew; so Ben got a taste, 
and, with the right encouragement, would like to go 
on, I am sure.” 

“ That’s so like you, Celia! Always thinking of the 
best thing and doing it handsomely. I’ll help like 
a house a-fire, if he will let me; but, all day, he’s 
been as stiff as a poker, so I don’t believe he forgives 
me a bit.” 

“ He will in time, and if you are kind and patient, 
he will be glad to have you help him. I shall make it 
a sort of favor to me on his part, to let you see to his 
lessons, now and then. It will be quite true, for I don’t 
9 * 




202 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


want you to touch your Latin or algebra till cool weather; 
teaching him will be play to 3'ou.” 

Miss Celia’s last words made her brother unbend hia 
brows, for he longed to get at his books again, and the 
idea of being tutor to his “ man-servmnt” did not alto- 
gethei suit him. 

“I’ll tool him along at a great pace, if he will only 
go. Geography and arithmetic shall be my share, and 
you may have the writing and spelling ; it gives me the 
fidgets to set copies, and hear children make a mess of 
words. Shall I get the books when I buy the other 
things? Can I go this afternoon?” 

“ Yes, here is the list; Bab gave it to me. You can 
go if you will come home early and have your tooth 
filled.’’ 

Gloom fell at once upon Thorn}’’s beaming face, and 
he gave such a shrill whistle that his sister jumped in 
her chair, as she added, persuasively, — 

“ It won’t hurt a bit, now, and the longer you leave 
it the worse it will be. Dr. IMann is ready at any time ; 
and, once over, j^ou will be at peace for months. Come, 
my hero, give 3’our orders, and take one of the girls to 
support 3’ou in the trying hour. Have Bab; she will 
enjoy it, and amuse 3’ou with her chatter.” 

“As if I needed girls round for such a trifle as that! ’ 
returned Thorny with a shrug, though he groaned in¬ 
wardly at the prospect before him, as most of us do on 
such occasions. “I W'ouldn’t take Bab at an}’ price; 
she’d only get into some scrape and upset the whole 
plan. Betty is the chicken for me, — a real little lady, 
and as nice and purry as a kitten.” 

“ Very well; ask her mother, and take good care ol 


BETTY^S BRAVERY, 


203 


her. Let her tuck her dolly in, and she will be contented 
anywhere. There’s a fine air, and the awning is on 
the phaeton, so you won’t feel the sun. Start about 
three, and drive carefully.” 

Betty was charmed to go, for Thorny was a sort of 
prince in her eyes; and to be invited to such a grand 
expedition was an overwhelming honor. Bab was not 
surprised, for, since Sancho’s loss, she had felt herself 
in disgrace, and been unusually meek; Ben let her 
“ severely alone,” which much afflicted her, for he was 
her great admiration, and had been pleased to express 
his approbation of her agility and courage so often, that 
she was ready to attempt any fool-hardy feat to recover 
his regard. But vainly did she risk her neck jumping 
off the highest beams in the barn, trying to keep her 
balance standing on the donkey’s back, and leaping the 
lodge gate at a bound ; Ben vouchsafed no reward by a 
look, a smile, a word of commendation; and Bab felt 
that nothing but Sancho’s return would ever restore the 
broken friendship. 

Into faithful Betty’s bosom did she pour forth her 
remorseful lamentations, often bursting out with the 
passionate exclamation, “ If I could only find Sanch, 
and give him back to Ben, I would n’t care if I tumbled 
down and broke all my legs right away ! ” Such aban¬ 
donment of woe made a deep impression on Betty; and 
she fell into the way of consoling her sister by cheerful 
prophecies, and a firm belief that the organ-man would 
yet appear with the lost darling. 

“ I ’ve got five cents of my berry money, and I ’ll buy 
you a orange if I see any,” promised Betty, stopping 
to kiss Bab, as the phaeton came to the door, and Thorny 






204 


UNDER THE LILACS, 


handed in a young lady whose white frock was so stiff 
with starch that it crackled like paper. 

“ Lemons will do if oranges are gone. I like 'em to 
suck with lots of sugar,” answered Bab, feeling that the 
sour sadly predominated in her cup just now. 

“Don’t she look sweet, the dear!” murmured Mrs. 
Moss, proudly surveying her youngest. 

She certainly did, sitting under the fringed canopy 
with “Belinda,” all in her best, upon her lap, as she 
turned to smile and nod, with a face so bright and win¬ 
some under the little blue hat, that it was no wonder 
mother and sister thought there never was such a perfect 
child as “ our Betty.” 

Dr. Mann was busy when they arrived, but would be 
ready in an hour; so they did their shopping at once, 
having made sure of the whip as they came along. 
Thorny added some candy to Bab’s lemon, and Belinda 
had a cake, which her mamma obligingly ate for her. 
Betty thought that Aladdin’s palace could not have been 
more splendid than the jewellei’’s shop where the canine 
cuff-buttons were bought; but when they came to the 
book-store, she forgot gold, silver, and precious stones, 
to revel in picture-books, while Thorny selected Ben’s 
modest school outfit. Seeing her delight, and feeling 
particularly lavish with plenty of money in his pocket, 
Ihe young gentleman completed the child’s bliss by tell¬ 
ing her to choose whichever one she liked best out of 
the pile of Walter Crane’s toy-book.^ lying in bewilder¬ 
ing colors before her. 

“ This one; Bab alwa^^s wanted to see the dreadful 
cupboard, and there’s a picture of it here,” answered 
Betty, clasping a gorgeous copy of “ Bluebeard” to the 


BETTTS BRAVERY, 


205 


little bosom, which still heaved with the rapture of 
looking at that delicious mixture of lovely Fatimas 
in pale azure gowns, pink Sister Annes on the turret 
top, crimson tyrants, and yellow brothers with forests 
of plumage blowing wildly from their mushroom-shaped 
caps. 

“Very good; there you are, then. Now, come on, 
for the fun is over and the grind begins,” said Thorny, 
marching away to his doom, with his tongue in his tooth, 
and trepidation in his manly breast. 

“ Shall I shut my eyes and hold 3'our head?” quavered 
devoted Betty, as they went up the steps so many reluc¬ 
tant feet had mounted before them. 

“Nonsense, child, never mind me I You look out 
of window and amuse yourself; we shall not be long, 
I guess ; ” and in went Thorny, silently hoping that the 
dentist had been suddenly called away, or some person 
with an excruciating toothache would be waiting to take 
ether, and so give our young man an excuse for post¬ 
poning his job. 

But no; Dr. Mann was quite at leisure, and, full of 
smiling interest, awaited his victim, lading forth his 
unpleasant little tools with the exasperating alacrity of 
his kind. Glad to be released from any share in the 
operation, Betty retired to the back window to be as far 
away as possible, and for half an hour was so absorbed 
in her book that poor Thorn}- might have groaned dis¬ 
mally without disturbing her. 

“Done now, directly; only a trifle of polishing 
oflT and a look round,” said Dr. Mann, at last; and 
Thorny, with a yawn that nearly rent him asunder, 
called out,— 







206 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


“ Thank goodness ! Pack up, Bett3’kin.” 

, “I’m all ready!” and, shutting her book with a 
start, she slipped down from the easy chair in a great 
hurry. 

But “looking round” took time; and, before the 
circuit of Thorny’s mouth was satisfactorily made, Betty 
had become absorbed by a more interesting tale than 
even the immortal “ Bluebeard.” A noise of children’s 
voices in the narrow alle3’-way behind the house at¬ 
tracted her attention ; the long window opened directly 
on the 3'ard, and the gate swung in the wind. Curious 
as Fatima, Bett}’ went to look; but all she saw was a 
group of excited boys peeping between the bars of 
another gate further down. 

“ What’s the matter? ” she asked of two small girls, 
who stood close b}^ her, longing but not daring to ap¬ 
proach the scene of action. 

“ Boys chasing a great black cat, I believe,” answered 
one child. 

“ Want to come and see?” added the other, politely 
extending the invitation to the stranger. 

The thought of a cat in trouble would have nerved 
Betty to face a dozen bo3"s; so she followed at once, 
meeting several lads hurr3ing away on some important 
errand, to judge from their anxious countenances. 

“ Hold tight, Jimmy, and let ’em peek, if they want 
to. lie can’t hurt anybody now,” said one of the dusty 
huntsmen, who sat on the wide coping of the wall, while 
two others held the gate, as if a cat could only escape 
that way. 

“You peek first, Susy, and see if it looks nice,” 
said one little girl, boosting her friend so that she 



BETTTS BRAVEIiY. 


207 


could look tlirougli the bars in the upper part of the 
gate. 

“ No ; it’s only an ugl}" old dog ! ” responded Susy, 
losing all interest at once, and descending with a 
bounce. 

“ He’s mad! and Jud’s gone to get his gun, so ^» 
can shoot him! ” called out one mischievous boy, resent¬ 
ing the contempt expressed for their capture. 

“ Ain’t, neither ! ” howled another lad from his perch. 
“ Mad dogs won’t drink ; and this one is lapping out of 
a tub of water.” 

“Well, he may be, and we don’t know him, and he 
hasn’t got any muzzle on, and the police will kill him 
if Jud don’t,” answered the sanguinary youth who had 
first started the chase after the poor animal, which had 
come limping into town, so evidently a lost dog that 
no one felt any hesitation in stoning him. 

“We must go right home; my mother is dreadful 
’fraid of mad dogs, and so is yours,” said Susy; and, 
having satisfied their curiosity, the young ladies pru¬ 
dently retired. 

But Betty had not had her “ peep,” and could not 
resist one look; for she had heard of these unhappy 
animals, and thought Bab would like to know how they 
looked. So she stood on tip-toe and got a good view of 
a dusty, brownish dog, l}ing on the grass close by, 
with his tongue hanging out while he panted, as if ex¬ 
hausted by fatigue and fear, for he still cast apprehen¬ 
sive glances at the wall which divided him from his 
tormentors. 

“ His eyes are just like Sanch’s,” said Betty to her¬ 
self, unconscious that she spoke aloud, till she saw thf? 







208 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


creature prick up his ears and half rise, as if he had 
been called. 

“ He looks as if he knew me, but it isn’t our Sancho; 
he was a lovely dog.” Betty said that to the little boy 
peeping in beside her; but before he could make anj 
reply, the brown beast stood straight up with an inquir¬ 
ing bark, while his eyes shone like topaz, and the short 
tail wagged excitedly. 

“ Why, that’s just the way Sanch used to do! ” 
cried Betty, bewildered by the familiar ways of this 
unfamiliar-looking dog. 

As if the repetition of his name settled his own 
doubts, he leaped toward the gate and thrust a pink 
nose between the bars, with a howl of recognition as 
Bett3^s face was more clearly seen. The boys tumbled 
precipitately from their perches, and the little girl fell 
back alarmed, yet could not bear to run away and leave 
those imploring eyes pleading to her through the bars so 
eloquently. 

“ He acts just Idie our dog, but I don’t see how it 
can be him. Sancho, Sancho, is it truly you?” called 
Betty, at her wits’ end what to do. 

“ Bow, wow, wow! ” answered the well-known bark, 
and the httle tail did aU it could to emphasize the 
sound, while the eyes were so full of dumb love and joy, 
the child could not refuse to believe that this ugly btray 
was their own Sancho strangely transformed. 

AU of a sudden, the thought rushed into her mind, 
“ How glad Ben would be! — and Bab would feel aU 
happy again. I must carry him home.” 

Never stopping to think of danger, and forgetting all 
he: doubts, Betty caught the gate handle out of Jimmy’s 



BETTTS BRAVERY. 


grasp, exclaiming eagerly: “He is our dog I Le. 
go m ; I ain’t afraid.” 

“ Not till Jud comes back; he told us we mustn’t,’ 
answered the astonished Jimmy, thinking the little girl 
as mad as the dog. 

With a confused idea that the unknown Jud had gone 
for a gun to shoot Sanch, Betty gave a desperate puil 
at the latch and ran into the yard, bent on saving her 
friend. That it was a friend there could be no further 
question; for, though the creature rushed at her as if 
about to devour her at a mouthful, it was only to roH 
ecstatically at her feet, lick her hands, and gaze into 
her face, tr3dng to pant out the welcome which he could 
not utter. An older and more prudent person would 
have waited to make sure before venturing in; but con¬ 
fiding Bettj’ knew little of the danger which she might 
have run ; her heart spoke more quickly than her head, 
and, not stopping to have the truth proved^ she took 
the brown dog on trust, and found it was indeed dear 
Sanch. 

Sitting on the grass, she hugged him close, careless 
of tumbled hat, dusty paws on her clean frock, or a row 
of strange boys staring from the waU. 

“ Darling doggy, where have you been so long? ** she 
cried, the gi’eat thing sprawling across her lap, as if he 
could not get near enough to his brave little protector. 
“Did they make you black and beat you, dear? Oh, 
Sanch, where is your tail — your pretty tail? ” 

A plaintive growl and a pathetic wag was all the 
answer he could make to these tender inquiries: for 
never would the story of his wrongs be known, and 
never could the glory of his doggish beauty be restored 

V 






UNDER THE LILACS. 


.cj was tijing to comfort him with pats and praises, 
'hen a new face appeared at the gate, and Thorny's 
.ithoritative voice called out, — 

“Betty Moss, what on earth are you doing in there 
with that dirty beast ? ” 

“It’s Sanch, it’s Sanch! Oh, come and see I 
shrieked Betty, flying up to lead forth her prize. 

But the gate was held fast, for some one said the 
words, “ Mad dog,” and Thorny was very naturally 
alaimed, because he had already seen one. “ Don’t 
stay there another minute. Get up on that bench and 
I ’ll pull you over,” dhected Thorny, mounting the wall 
to rescue his charge in hot haste; for the dog did cer¬ 
tainly behave queerly, hmpiug hurriedly to and fro, as if 
anxious to escape. No wonder, when Sancho heard a 
voice he knew, and recognized another face, yet did not 
meet as kind a welcome as before. 

“ No, I’m not coming out till he does. It is Sanch, 
and I’m going to take him home to Ben,” answered 
Betty, decidedly, as she wet her handkerchief in the 
rain water to bind up the swollen paw that had travelled 
many miles to rest in her little hand again. 

“ You’re crazy, child. That is no more Ben’s dog 
than I am.” 

“ See if it isn’t! ” cried Betty, perfect unshaken in 
her faith; and, recalling the words of command as 
well as she could, she tried to put Sancho through his 
little performance, as the surest proof that she was 
right. The poor lellow did his best, weary and foot¬ 
sore though he was ; but when it came to taking his tail 
in his mouth to waltz, he gave it up, and, di-opping 
down, hid his face in his paws, as he always did when 




BETTY’S BRAVERY. 


211 


t\ any of his tricks failed. The act was almost pathetic 

r now, for one of the paws was bandaged, and his 

whole attitude expressed the humiliation of a broken 
spirit. 

That touched Thorny, and, quite convinced both of 
* the dog’s sanity and identity, he sprung down from Iht 

f1 wall with Ben’s own whistle, which gladdened Sancho’s 

longing ear as much as the boy’s rough caresses com¬ 
forted his homesick heart. 

“ Now, let’s carry him right home, and surprise Ben. 

i Won’t he be pleased?” said Betty, so in earnest that 
she tried to lift the big brute in spite of his protesting 

^ yelps. 

I “ You are a little trump to find him out in spite of all 

ii the horrid things that have been done to him. We 

i must have a rope to lead him, for he’s got no collar 
and no muzzle. He has got friends though, and I’d 
like to see any one touch him now. Out of the way, 
there, boy ! ” Looking as commanding as a drum-major, 

; Thorny cleared a passage, and with one arm about his 
neck, Betty proudly led her treasure forth, magnani- 
|| mously ignoring his late foes, and keeping his eye fixed 
I on the faithful friend whose tender little heart had 
I xnown him in spite of all disguises. 

' “I found liim, sir,” and the lad who had been most 
II eager for the shooting, stepped forward to claim an\ 

' reward that might be olTered for the now valuable 
victim. 

i| “I kept him safe till she came,” added the jailei 
I Jimmy, speaking for himself. 

“ I said he wasn’t mad,” cried a third, feehng that 
his discrimination deserv ed ai)provaL 









212 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


“ Jud ain't my brother,” said the fourth, eager to cleai 
his skirts from all offence. 

“ But all of you chased and stoned him, I suppose? 
You'd better look out or you’ll get reported to the 
Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.” 

With this awful and mysterious threat. Thorny 
slammed the doctor’s gate in the faces of the mercenary 
youths, nipping their hopes in the bud, and teaching 
them a good lesson. 

After one astonished stare, Lita accepted Sancho 
without demur, and they greeted one another cordially, 
nose to nose, instead of shaking hands. Then the dog 
nestled into his old place under the linen duster with a 
grunt of intense content, and soon fell fast asleep, quite 
worn out with fatigue. 

No Roman conqueror bearing, untold treasures with 
him, ever approached the Eternal City feeling richer or 
prouder than did Miss Betty as she rolled rapidly toward 
the little brown house with the captive won by her own 
arms. Poor Belinda was forgotten in a corner, “ Blue¬ 
beard” was thrust under the cushion, and the lovely 
lemon was squeezed before its time by being sat upon ; 
for all the child could think of was Ben’s delight, 
Bab’s remorseful burdeu lifted off, “ Ma’s ” surprise, and 
Miss Celia’s pleasure. She could hardly realize the 
happy fact, and kept peeping under the cover to be sure 
that the dear dingy bunch at her feet was truty there. 

“ I ’ll teU 3^ou how we ’ll do it,” said Thorny, break¬ 
ing a long silence as Betty composed herself wdth an 
irrepressible wriggle of delight after one of tliese re¬ 
freshing peeps. “We’ll keep Sanch hidden, and 
smuggle him into Ben’s old room at your house. Then 


BETTTS BRAVERy. 


213 


I’ll diive on to the bam, and not say a word, but send 
Ben to get something out of that room. You just let 
him in, to see what he ’ll do. I ’ll bet you a dollar he 
won’t know his own dog.” 

“I don’t believe I can keep from screaming right 
out when I see him, but I’ll try. Oh, won’t it be 
fUn I ” — and Betty clapped her hands in joyful antici¬ 
pation of that exciting moment. 

A nice little plan, but Master Thorny forgot the 
keen senses of the amiable animal snoring peacefully 
among his boots; and, when they stopped at the 
Lodge, he had barely time to say in a whisper, 
“Ben’s coming; cover Sanch and let me get him in 
quick! ” before the dog was out of the phaeton like 
a bombshell, and the approaching boy went down 
as if shot, for Sancho gave one leap, and the two 
rolled over and over, with a shout and a bark of 
rapturous recognition. 

“ Who is hurt? ” asked Mrs. Moss, mnning out with 
flour}' hands uplifted in alarm. 

“Is it a bear?” cried Bab, rushing after her, egg- 
beater in hand, for a dancing bear was the desire of her 
heart. 

“ Sancho’s found! Sancho’s found I ” shouted Thorny, 
throwing up his hat like a lunatic. 

“Found, found, found!” echoed Betty, dancing 
wildly about as if she too had lost her little wits. 

“Where? how? when? who did it?” asked Mrs. 
Moss, clapping her dusty hands delightedly. 

“It isn’t; it’s an old dirty brown thing,” stam¬ 
mered Bab, as the dog came uppermost for a minute, 
and then rooted into Ben’s jacket as if he smeU 



214 


UNDER THE LILACb. 


a woodchuck, and was bound to have him om 
directly. 

Then Thorny, with many interruptions from Betty, 
poured forth the wondrous tale, to which Bab and her 
mother listened breathlessly, while the muffins burned 
as black as a coal, and nobody cared a bit. 

“ My precious lamb, how did you dare to do such 
a thing?” exclaimed Mrs. Moss, hugging the smaU 
heroine with mingled admiration and alarm. 

“I’d have dared, and slapped those horrid boj^s, too. 
I wish I’d gone ! ” and Bab felt that she had for ever 
lost the chance of distinguishing herself. 

“ Who cut his tail off?” demanded Ben, in a menac¬ 
ing tone, as he came uppermost in his tui’n, dusty, 
red and breathless, but radiant. 

“The wretch who stole him, I suppose; and he de¬ 
serves to be hung,” answered Thorny, hotly. 

“If ever I catch him. I’ll — I’ll cut his nose off,” 
roared Ben, with such a vengeful glare that Sanch 
barked fiercely ; and it was well that the unknown 
“ wretch” was not there, for it would have gone hardly 
with him, since even gentle Betty frowned, while Bab 
brandished the egg-beater menacingly, and their mother 
indignantly declared that “ it was too bad ! ” 

Relieved by this general outburst, they composed 
their outraged feelings; and while the returned wan¬ 
derer went from one to another to receive a tender 
welcome from each, the story of his recovery was more 
calmly told. Ben listened with his eye devouring the 
injured dog; and when Thorny paused, he turned to 
the little heroine, saving solemnly, as he laid her hand 
with his own on Sancho’s head, — 




BETTTS BRAVERY. 


215 


“ Betty Moss, I ’U never forget what you did; from 
this minute half of Sanch is your truly own, and if I 
die 3'ou shall have the whole of him,” and Ben sealed 
the precious gift with a sounding kiss on either chubby 
cheek. 

Betty was so deeply touched by this noble bequest, 
that the blue eyes filled and would have overflowed 
if Sanch had not politely offered his tongue like a 
red pocket-handkerchief, and so made her laugh the 
drops away, while Bab set the rest off by saying, 
gloomily,— 

“ I mean to play with all the mad dogs I can 
find; then folks wiU think Pm smart and give me nice 
things.” 

“Poor old Bab, I’U forgive you now, and lend 
you my half whenever you want it,” said Ben, feeling 
at peace now with all mankind, including girls who 
tagged. 

“Come and show him to Ceha,” begged Thorny, 
eager to fight his battles over again. 

“ Better wash him up first; he’s a sight to see, poor 
thing,” suggested Mrs. Moss, as she ran in, suddenly 
remembering her muffins. 

“ It will take a lot of washings to get that brown 
stuff off. See, his pretty pink skin is all stained with 
it. We ’ll bleach him out, and his curls will grow, and 
he ’ll be as good as ever — all but —” 

Ben could not finish, and a general wail went up for 
the departed tassel that would never wave proudly in 
the breeze again. 

“ I ’ll buy him a new one. Now form the procession 
and let us go in style,” said Thorny, cheerily, as he 







216 


UNDLR THE LILACS. 


swung Betty to his shoulder and marched away whist- 
hng “Hail! the conquering hero comes,” while Ben 
and his Bow-wow followed arm-in-arm, and Bab 
brought up the rear, banging on a milk-pan with the 
egg-beater. 


I 


CHAPTER XVIIl. 

BOWS AND ARROWS. 

I F Sancho's abduction made a stir, one may easily 
imagine with what warmth and interest he was 
welcomed back when his wrongs and wanderings were 
known. For several days he held regular levees, that 
curious boys and sympathizing girls might see and pity 
the changed and curtailed dog. Sanch behaved with 
dignified afifability, and sat upon his mat in the coach¬ 
house pensively eying his guests, and patiently submit¬ 
ting to their caresses ; while Ben and Thorny took turns 
to teU the few tragical facts which were not shrouded 
in the deepest mystery. K the interesting sufferer could 
only have spoken, what thrilling adventures and hair¬ 
breadth escapes he might have related. But, alas ! he 
was dumb; and the secrets of that memorable month 
never were revealed. 

The lame paw soon healed, the dingy color slowly 
yielded to many washings, the woolly coat began to 
knot up into little curls, a new collar, handsomely 
marked, made him a respectable dog, and Sancho was 
himself again. But it was evident that his suflerings 
were not forgotten; his once sweet temper was a trifle 
soured; and, with a few exceptions, he had lost his 
faith in mankind. Before, he had been the most benev* 
10 



218 


UNDER THE LILACS, 


olent and hospitable of dogs ; now, he eyed all strangers 
suspiciously, and the sight of a shabby man made him 
growl and bristle up, as if the memory of his wrongs 
still burned hotly within him. 

Fortunately, his gratitude was stronger than his re¬ 
sentment, and he never seemed to forget that he owed 
his life to Betty, — running to meet her whenever sne 
appeared, instantly obeying her commands, and suEfcr- 
ing no one to molest her when he walked watcMULly 
beside her, with her hand upon his neck, as they had 
walked out of the almost fatal backyard together, faith¬ 
ful friends for ever. 

Miss Celia called them little Una and her lion, and 
read the pretty story to the children when they wondered 
what she meant. Ben, with great pains, taugnt the 
dog to spell “ Betty,” and suri^rised her with a display 
of this new accomplishment, which gratified her so 
much that she was never tired of seeing Sanch paw 
the five red letters into place, then come and lay his 
nose in her hand, as if he added, “ That’s the name of 
my dear mistress.” 

Of course Bab was glad to have every thing pleasant 
and friendly again; but in a little dark corner of her 
heart there was a drop of envy, and a desperate desire 
to do something which would make every one in her 
small world like and praise her as they did Betty. Try¬ 
ing to be as good and gentle did not satisfy her; she 
must do something brave or surprising, and no chance 
for distinguishing herself in that way seemed likely to 
appear. Betty was as fond as ever, and the boys were 
very kind to her; but she felt that they both liked “ little 
Betcinda,” as they called her, best, because she found 


BOWS AND ARROWS. 


219 


Sanch, and never seemed to know that she had done 
any thing brave in defending him against all odds. Bab 
did not tell any one how she felt, but endeavored to be 
amiable, while waiting for her chance to come; and, 
when it did arrive, made the most of it, though there 
was nothing heroic to add a charm. 

Miss Celia’s arm had been doing very well, but would, 
of course, be useless for some time longer. Finding 
that the afternoon readings amused herself'as much as 
they did the children, she kept them up, and brought 
out all her old favorites, enjoying a double pleasure in 
seeing that her young audience relished them as much 
as she did when a child; for to all but Thorny they 
were brand new. Out of one of these stories came 
much amusement for aU, and satisfaction for one of 
the party. 

“Celia, did you bring our old bows?” asked her 
brother, eagerly, as she put down the book from which 
she had been reading Miss Edgeworth’s capital story 
of “Waste not Want not; or. Two Strings to 3"Our 
Bow.” 

“Yes, I brought all the playthings we left stored 
away in uncle’s garret when we went abroad. The 
bows are in the long box where 3'ou found the maUets, 
fishing*rods, and bats. The old quivers and a few 
arrows are there also, I believe. What is the idea 
now? ” asked Miss Celia in her turn, as Thorny bounced 
up in a great hurry. 

“I’m going to teach Ben to shoot. Grand fun 
this hot weather; and by-and-by we ’ll have an arch¬ 
ery meeting, and }rou can give us a prize. Come 
on, Ben. I ’vc got plenty of whip-cord to rig up the 




220 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


bows, and then we’ll show the ladies some first-class 
shooting.” 

I can’t; never had a decent bow in my life. The 
little gilt one I used to wave round when I was a Coopid 
wasn’t worth a cent to go,” answered Ben, feeling as if 
that painted “ prodigy” must have been a very distant 
connection of the respectable young person now walk¬ 
ing off arm in arm with the lord of the manor. 

“ Practice is all you want. I used to be a capital 
shot, but I don’t believe I could hit any thing but a 
barn-door now,” answered Thorny, encouragingly. 

As the boys vanished, with much tramping of boots 
and banging of doors, Bab observed, in the young- 
ladyish tone she was apt to use when she composed 
her active little mind and body to the feminine task 
of needlework, — 

“We used to make bows of whalebone when we were 
little girls, but we are too old to play so now.” 

“ I’d like to, but Bab won’t, ’cause she’s most ’leven 
years old,” said honest Betty, placidly rubbing her 
needle in the “ ruster,” as she called the family emery- 
bag. 

“Grown people enjoy archery, as bow and arrow 
shooting is called, especially in England. I was read¬ 
ing about it the other day, and saw a picture of Queen 
Victoria with her bow; so you needn’t be ashamed of 
It, Bab,” said Miss Celia, rummaging among the books 
and papers in her sofa corner to find the magazine she 
wanted, thinking a new play would be as good for the 
girls as for the big boys. 

“ A queen, just think ! ” and Betty looked much im¬ 
pressed bv the fact, as well as uplifted by the knowledge 


BOWS AND ARROWS. 


221 


that her friend did not agree in thinking her silly because 
she preferred playing with a harmless home-made toy 
to firing stones or snapping a pop-gun. 

“ In old times, bows and arrows were used to fight 
great battles with; and we read how the English archers 
shot so well that the air was dark with arrows, and 
many men were killed.” 

“So did the Indians have’em; and I’ve got some 
stone arrow-heads, — found ’em by the river, in the 
dirt! ” cried Bab, waking up, for battles interested her 
more than queens. 

“While you finish your stints I’ll tell you a little 
story about the Indians,” said Miss Celia, lying back on 
her cushions, while the needles began to go again, for 
the prospect of a story could not be resisted. 

“A century or more ago, in a small settlement on 
the banks of the Connecticut, — which means the Long 
River of Pines, — there lived a little girl called Matty 
Kilburn. On a hiQ stood the fort where the people ran 
for protection in any danger, for the country was new 
and wild, and more than once the Indians had come 
down the river in their canoes and burned the houses, 
killed men, and carried away women and children. 
Matty lived alone with her father, but felt quite safe in 
the log-house, for he was never far away. One after¬ 
noon, as the farmers were aU busy in their fields, the 
beU rang suddenly, — a sign that there was danger 
near, — and, dropping their rakes or axes, the men 
burned to their houses to save wives and babies, and 
such few treasures as they could. Mr. KUbum caught 
np his gun with one hand and his little girl with the 
other, and ran as fast as he could toward the fort. Bm 



222 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


before lie could reach it he heard a yell, and saw the 
red men coming up from the river. Then he knew 
it would be in vain to try to get in, so he looked 
about for a safe place to hide Matty till he could come 
for her. He was a brave man, and could fight, so 
he had no thought of hiding while his neighbors needed 
help; but the dear little daughter must be cared for 
first. 

“ In the comer of the lonely pasture which they 
dared not cross, stood a big hollow elm, and there the 
farmer hastily hid Matty, dropping her down into the 
dim nook, round the mouth of which young shoots had 
grown, so that no one would have suspected any hole 
was there. 

“ ‘ Lie still, child, till I come; say your prayers and 
wait for father,’ said the man, as he parted the leaves 
for a last glance at the small, frightened face looking up 
at him. 

“ ‘ Come soon,’ whispered Matty, and tried to smile 
bravely, as a stout settler’s girl should. 

“ Mr. Kilburn went away, and was taken prisoner 
in the fight, carried off, and for years no one knew 
whether he was alive or dead. People missed Matty, 
but supposed she was with her father, and never ex¬ 
pected to see her again. A great while afterward the 
poor man came back, having escaped and made his way 
through the wilderness to his old home. His first ques¬ 
tion was for Matty, but no one had seen her; and when 
he told them where he had left her, they shook their 
heads as if they thought he was crazy. But they went 
to look, that he might be satisfied; and he was; for 
tiiere they found some little bones, some faded bits of 


BOWS AND ARROWS. 


228 


cloth, and two rusty silver buckles marked with Matty's 
name in what had once been her shoes. An Indian 
arrow lay there, too, showing why she had never cried 
for help, but waited patiently so long for father to come 
and find her.” 

If Miss Celia expected to see the last bit of hem done 
when her story ended, she was disappointed; for not a 
dozen stitches had been taken. Betty was using her 
crash towel for a handkerchief, and Bab’s lay on the 
ground as she listened with snapping eyes to the little 
tragedy. 

“ Is it true?” asked Betty, hoping to find relief in 
being told that it was not. 

“ Yes; I have seen the tree, and the mound where 
the fort was, and the rusty buckles in an old farm¬ 
house where other Kilburns live, near the spot where it 
all happened,” answered Miss Celia, looking out the 
picture of Victoria to console her auditors. 

“We’ll play that in the old apple-tree. Betty can 
scrooch down, and I ’ll be the father, and put leaves on 
her, and then I ’ll be a great Injun and fire at her. I 
can make arrows, and it will be fun, won’t it?” cried 
Bab, charmed with the new drama in which she could 
act the leading parts. 

“No, it won’t! I don’t like to go in a cobwebby 
hole, and have you play kill me. I ’ll make a nice fort 
of hay, and be all safe, and you can put Dinah down 
there for Matty. I don’t love her any more, now her 
last eye has tumbled out, and you may shoot her just as 
much as you like.” 

Before Bab could agree to this satisfactory arrange¬ 
ment, Thorny appeared, singing, as he aimed at a faJ 





224 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


robin, whose red waistcoat looked rather warm and 
winterish that August day, — 

“ So he took np his bow. 

And he feathered his arrow. 

And said, ' I will shoot 
This little cock-sparrow/ ” 

“ But he didn’t,” chirped the robin, flying away, 
with a contemptuous flirt of his rusty-black tail. 

“That is exactly what you must promise not to do, 
boys. Fire away at your targets as much as you like, 
but do not harm any living creature,” said Miss Celia, 
as Ben followed armed and equipped with her own long- 
unused accoutrements. 

“ Of course we won’t if you say so; but, with a 
little practice, I could bring down a bird as well as that 
fellow you read to me about with his woodpeckers and 
larks and herons,” answered Thorny, who had much en¬ 
joyed the article, while his sister lamented over the 
destruction of the innocent birds. 

“You’d do well to borrow the Squire’s old stuffed 
owl for a target; there w’ould be some chance of your 
hitting him, he is so big,” said his sister, who always 
made fun of the boy when he began to brag. 

Thorny’s only reply was to send his arrow straight np 
so far out of sight that it was a long while coming 
down again to stick quivering in the ground near by, 
whence Sancho brought it in his mouth, evidently highly 
approving of a game in which he could join. 

“ Not bad for a beginning. Now, Ben, fire away.” 

But Ben’s experience with bows was small, and. In 
spite of his praiseworthy efforts to imitate his gi*eat ex- 


BOWS AND ARROWS. 


225 


emplar, the arrow only turned a feeble sort of somer¬ 
sault, and descended perilously near Bab’s uplifted 
nose. 

“ If you endanger other people’s life and liberty in 
your pursuit of happiness, I shall have to confiscate 
your arms, boys. Take the orchard for your archery 
ground; that is safe, and we can see you as we sit 
here. I wish I had two hands, so that I could paint 
you a fine, gay target;” and Miss Celia looked re¬ 
gretfully at the injured arm, which as yet was of 
little use. 

“ I wish you could shoot, too; you used to beat all 
the girls, and I was proud of you,” answered Thorny, 
with the air of a fond elder brother; though, at the 
time he alluded to, he was about twelve, and hardly up 
to his sister’s shoulder. 

“ Thank you. I shall be happy to give my place to 
Bab and Betty if you wiU make them some bows and 
arrows ; they could not use those long ones,” 

The young gentlemen did not take the hint as quickly 
as Miss Celia hoped they would; in fact, both looked 
rather blank at the suggestion, as boys generally do 
when it is proposed that girls — especially small ones — 
shall join in any game they are placing. 

“ P’r’aps it would be too much trouble,” began Bettj^ 
in her winning little voice. 

“ I can make my own,” declared Bab, with an inde¬ 
pendent toss of the head. 

“ Not a bit; I ’ll make you the jolliest small bow that 
ever was, Betcinda,” Thorny hastened to say, softened 
by the appealing glance of the little maid. 

“ You can use mine, Bab ; you’ve got such a strong 
o 



226 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


fist, I guess you could pull it,” added Ben, remembet- 
ing that it would not be amiss to have a comrade who 
shot worse than he did, for he felt very inferior to Thorny 
in many ways, and, being used to praise, had missed it 
very much since he retired to private life. 

“ I will be umpire, and brighten up the silver arrow 
I sometimes pin my hair with, for a prize, unless we 
can find something better,” proposed Miss Celia, glad 
to see that question settled, and every prospect of the 
new play being a pleasant amusement for the hot 
weather. 

It was astonishing how soon archery became the 
fashion in that town, for the boys discussed it enthusi 
astically all that evening, formed the “William TeU 
Club ” next day, with Bab and Betty as honorary 
members, and, before the week was out, nearly every 
lad was seen, like young Norval, “With bended bow 
and quiver full of arrows,” shooting away, with a 
charming disregard of the safety of their fellow-citizens. 
Banished by the authorities to secluded spots, the mem¬ 
bers of the club set up their targets and practised inde- 
fatigably, especially Ben, who soon discovered that his 
early gjunnastics had given him a sinewy arm and a true 
eye ; and, taking Sanch into partnership as picker-up, he 
got more shots out of an hour than those who had to 
run to and fro. 

Thorny easily recovered much of his former skill, but 
his strength had not fully returned, and he soon grew 
tired. Bab, on the contrary, threw herself into the 
contest heart and soul, and tugged away at the new bow 
Miss Celia gave her, for Ben’s was too heavy. No 
other girls were admitted, so the outsiders got up a 



BOWS AND ARROWS. 


227 


club of their own, and called it “ The Victoria,” the 
name being suggested by the magazine article, which 
went the rounds as a general guide and reference-book. 
Bab and Betty belonged to this club also, and duly re¬ 
ported the doings of the boys, with whom they had a 
right to shoot if they chose, but soon waived the right, 
plainly seeing that their absence would be regai’ded in 
the light of a favor. 

The archery fever raged as fiercely as the base-ball 
epidemic had done before it, and not only did the maga¬ 
zine circulate freely, but Miss Edgeworth’s story, which 
was eagerly read, and so much admired that the girls at 
once mounted green ribbons, and the boys kept yards 
of whip-cord in their pockets like the provident Benja 
min of the tale. 

Every one enjoyed the new play very much, and 
something grew out of it which was a lasting pleasure 
to many, long after the bows and arrows were forgot¬ 
ten. Seeing how glad the children were to get a new 
story, Miss Celia was moved to send a box of books — 
old and new — to the town library, which was but 
scantily supplied, as country hbraries are apt to be. 
This donation produced a good effect; for other people 
hunted up all the volumes they could spare for the same 
purpose, and the dusty shelves in the little room behind 
the post-office filled up amazingly. Coming in vacation 
time they were hailed with delight, and ancient books 
of travel, as well as modern tales, were feasted upon 
by happy young folks, with plenty of time to enjoy 
jhem in peace. 

The success of her first attempt at being a public 
benefactor pleased Miss Celia very much, and suggested 





228 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


other ways in which she might serve the quiet town, 
where she seemed to feel that work was waiting for her 
to do. She said little to any one but the friend over 
the sea, yet various plans were made then that blos^ 
somed beautifully by and by. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


SPEAKING PIECES. 



^HE first of September came all too soon, and 


A school began. Among the boys and girls who 
went trooping up to the “East Comer knowledge-box,” 
as they called it, was our friend Ben, with a pile of 
neat books under his arm. He fblt very strange, and 
decidedly shy ; but put on a bold face, and let nobody 
guess that, though nearly thirteen, he had never been 
to school before. Miss Celia had told his story to 
Teacher, and she, being a kind little woman, with 
young brothers of her own, made things as easy for 
him as she could. In reading and writing he did very 
well, and proudly took his place among lads of his own 
age; but when it came to arithmetic and geography, 
he had to go down a long way, and begin almost at the 
beginning, in spite of Thorny’s efforts to “tool him 
along fast.” It mortified him sadly, but there was no 
help for it; and in some of the classes he had dear httle 
Betty to condole with him when he failed, and smile 
contentedly when he got above her, as he soon began 
to do, — for she was not a quick child, and plodded 
through First Parts long after sister Bab was flourish¬ 
ing away among girls much older than herself. 

Fortunately, Ben was a short boy and a clever one* 







230 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


BO he did not look out of place among the ten and 
eleven year olders, and fell upon his lessons with the 
Bame resolution with which he used to take a new leap, 
or practise patiently till he could touch his heels vrith 
,his head. That sort of exercise had given him a strong, 
elastic little body; this kind was to train his mind, and 
make its faculties as useful, quick and sure, as the obe¬ 
dient muscles, nerves and eye, which kept him safe 
where others would have broken their necks. He 
knew this, and found much consolation in the fact that, 
though mental arithmetic was a hopeless task, he could 
turn a dozen somersaults, and come up as stead}’ as a 
judge. When the boys laughed at him for saying tliat 
China was in Africa, he routed them entirely by his 
superior knowledge of the animals belonging to that 
wild country; and when “ First class in reading” was 
called, he marched up with the proud consciousness 
that the shortest boy in it did better than tall Moses 
Towne or fat Sam Kitteridge. 

Teacher praised him all she honestly could, and cor¬ 
rected his many blunders so quietly that he soon ceased 
to be a deep, distressful red during recitation, and 
tugged away so manfully that no one could help respect¬ 
ing him for his efforts, and trying to make light of his 
failures. So the first hard week went by, and though 
the boy’s heart had sunk many a time at the prospect 
of a protracted wrestle with his own ignorance, he made 
up his mind to win, and went at it again on the Mon¬ 
day with fresh zeal, all the better and braver for a good, 
cheery talk with Miss Celia in the Sunday evening twi- 
'ight. 

He did not tell her one of his greatest trials, how^ 


SPEAKING PIECES. 


281 


ever, because he thought she could not help him there. 
Some of the children rather looked down upon him, 
called him “tramp” and “ beggar,” twitted him with 
having been a circus boy, and lived in a tent like a 
gyi:)sy. They did not mean to be cruel, but did it for 
the sake of teasing, never stopping to think how much 
such sport can make a fellow-creature suffer. Being a 
plucky fellow, Ben pretended not to mind; but he did 
feel it keenly, because he wanted to start afresh, and 
be like other boys. He was not ashamed of the old 
life; but, finding those around him disapproved of it, 
he was glad to let it be forgotten, even by himself; 
for his latest recollections were not happy ones, and 
present comforts made past hardships seem harder than 
before. 

He said nothing of this to Miss Celia; but she found 
it out, and liked him all the better for keeping some 
of his small worries to himself. Bab and Betty came 
over on Monday afternoon full of indignation at some 
boyish insult Sam had put upon Ben ; and, finding them 
too full of it to enjoy the reading. Miss Celia asked 
what the matter was. Then both little girls burst out 
in a rapid succession of broken exclamations, which did 
not give a very clear idea of the diflSiculty, — 

“ Sam didn’t like it because Ben jumped farther than 
he did — ” 

“ And he said Ben ought to be in the poor-house.” 

“ And Ben said he ought to be in a pigpen.” 

“ So he had! — such a greedy thing, bringing lovely 
big apples, and not giving any one a single bite ! ” 

“Then he was mad, and we all laughed; and he said 
‘Want to fight?’” 








232 


UNDER THE LILACS, 


“And Ben said, ‘No, thanky, not much fun in 
pounding a feather-bed/” 

“ Oh, he was awfully mad then, and chased Ben up 
the big maple.” 

“ He’s there now, for Sam won’t let him come down 
till he takes it all back.” 

“ Ben won’t; and I do believe he’ll have to stay up 
all night,” said Betty, distressfully. 

“He won’t care, and we’ll have fun firing up his 
supper. Nut-cakes and cheese will go splendidly; and 
may be baked pears wouldn’t get smashed, he’s such 
a good catch,” added Bab, decidedly relishing the 
prospect. 

“K he does not come by tea-time, we will go and 
look after him. It seems to me I have heard some¬ 
thing about Sam’s troubling him before, haven’t I?” 
asked Miss Celia, ready to defend her protege against 
all unfair persecution. 

“ Yes, ’m, Sam and Mose are always plaguing Ben. 
They are big boys, and we can’t make them stop. I 
won’t let the girls do it, and the little boys don’t dare 
to, since Teacher spoke to them,” answered Bab. 

“ Why does not Teacher speak to the big ones?” 

“Ben won’t teU of them, or let us. He says he’ll 
fight his own battles, and hates tell-tales. I guess he 
won’t like to have us tell you, but I don’t care, for it 
is too bad! ” and Betty looked ready to cry over her 
friend’s tribulations. 

“I’m glad you did, for I will attend to it, and stop 
this sort of thing,” said Miss Celia, after the children 
had told some of the tormenting speeches which had 
tried poor Ben. 



SPEAKING PIECES. 


233 


Just then Thorny appeared, looking much amused, 
and the little gilds both called out in a breath, “Did 
you see Ben and get him down?” 

“ He got himself down in the neatest way you can 
Imagine ; ” and Thorny laughed at the recollection. 

“Where is Sam?” asked Bab. 

“ Staring up at the sky to see where Ben has flown 
to.” 

“ Oh, tell about it! ” begged Betty. 

“Well, 1 came along and found Ben treed, and Sam 
stoning him. I stopped that at once, and told the ‘ fat 
boy ’ to be off. He said he wouldn’t till Ben begged 
his pardon ; and Ben said he wouldn’t do it, if he stayed 
up for a week. I was just preparing to give that rascal 
a scientific thrashing, when a load of hay came along, 
and Ben dropped on to it so quietly that Sam, who was 
trying to bully me, never saw him go. It tickled me 
so, I told Sam I guessed I’d let him off that time, and 
walked away, leaving him to hunt for Ben, and wonder 
where the dickens he had vanished to.” 

The idea of Sam’s bewilderment amused the others 
as much as Thorny, and they all had a good laugh over 
it before Miss Celia asked, — 

“ Where has Ben gone now?” 

“Oh, he’ll take a little ride, and then slip down 
and race home full of the fun of it. But I’ve got to 
settle Sam. I won’t have our Ben hectored by any 
one — ” 

“ But yourself,” put in his sister, with a sly smile, 
for Thorny was rather domineering at times. 

“ He doesn’t mind my poking him up now and then, 
It’s good for him; and I always take his part against 








234 


UNDER THE LILACS, 


other people. Sam is a bully, and so is Mose ; and I 
thrash them both if they don’t stop.” 

Anxious to curb her brother’s pugnacious propen 
sities, Miss Celia proposed milder measures, promising 
to speak to the boys herself if there was any more 
trouble. 

“ I have been thinking that we should have some 
sort of merry-making for Ben on his birthday. My 
plan was a very simple one; but I will enlarge it, and 
have aU the young folks come, and Ben shall be king 
of the fun. He needs encouragement in well-doing, 
for he does try; and now the first hard part is nearly 
over, I am sure he will get on bravely. If we treat him 
with respect, and show our regard for him, others will 
follow our example ; and that will be better than fight¬ 
ing about it.” 

“So it will! What shall we do to make our party 
tip-top ? ” asked Thorny, falhng into the trap at once; 
ibr he dearly loved to get up theatricals, and had not 
had any for a long time. 

“We win plan something splendid, a ‘ grand com¬ 
bination,’ as you used to call your droll mixtures of 
tragedy, comedy, melodrama and farce,” answered his 
sister, with her head already full of lively plots. 

“ We ’U startle the natives. I don’t believe they ever 
saw a play in all their lives, hey, Bab?” 

“ I’ve seen a circus.” 

“We dress up and do ‘ Babes in the Wood,’ ” added 
Betty, with dignity. 

“Pho! that’s nothing. I’ll show you acting that 
will make your hair stand on end, and you shall act too. 
Bab will be capital for the naughty girls,” began Thorny, 





SPEAKING PIECES. 


235 


excited by the prospect of producing a sensation on the 
boards, and always ready to tease the girls. 

Before Betty could protest that she did not want her 
hair to stand up, or Bab could indignantly decline the 
role offered her, a shrill whistle was heard, and Miss 
Celia whispered, with a warning look, — 

“ Hush! Ben is coming, and he must not know any 
thing about this yet.” 

The next day was Wednesday, and in the afternoon 
Miss Celia went to hear the children “speak pieces,” 
though it was very seldom that any of the busy matrons 
and elder sisters found time or inclination for these dis¬ 
plays of youthful oratory. Miss Celia and Mrs. Moss 
were all the audience on this occasion, but Teacher was 
both pleased and proud to see them, and a general 
rustle went through the school as they came in, all the 
girls turning from the visitors to nod at Bab and Betty, 
who smiled all over their round faces to see “Ma” 
sitting up “ ’ side of Teacher,” and the boys grinned at 
Ben, whose heart began to beat fast at the thought of 
his dear mistress coming so far to hear him say his 
piece. 

Thorny had recommended Marco Bozzaris, but Ben 
preferred John Gilpin, and ran the famous race with 
much spirit, making excellent time in some parts and 
having to be spurred a little in others, but came out all 
right, though quite breathless at the end, sitting down 
amid great applause, some of which, curiously enough, 
seemed to come from outside; which in fact it did, for 
Thorny was bound to hear but would not come in, lest 
his presence should abash one orator at least. 

Other pieces followed, ail more or less patriotic and 








236 


UNDER THE LILACS, 


warlike, among the boys ; sentimental among the girls. 
Sam broke down in his attempt to give one of Webster^a 
great speeches. Little Cy Fay boldly attacked 

** Again to the battle, Achaians 1 ** 

and shrieked his way through it in a shrill, small voice, 
bound to do honor to the older brother who had trained 
him even if he broke a vessel in the attempt. Billy 
chose a weU-worn piece, but gave it a new interest by 
his style of delivery; for his gestures were so spasmodic 
he looked as if going into a fit, and he did such 
astonishing things with his voice that one never knew 
whether a howl or a growl would come next. When 

" The woods against a stormy sky 
Their giant branches tossed; ” 

Billy’s arms went round like the sails of a windmill; 
the “hymns of lofty cheer” not only “shook the 
depths of the desert gloom,” but the small children on 
their little benches, and the school-house literally rang 
“ to the anthems of the free! ” When “ the ocean eagle 
soared,” Billy appeared to be going bodily up, and the 
“pines of the forest roared” as if they had taken 
lessons of Van Amburgh’s biggest lion. “Woman’s 
fearless eye” was expressed by a wild glare; “man¬ 
hood’s brow, severely high,” by a sudden clutch at the 
reddish locks falling over the orator’s hot forehead, and 
a sounding thump on his blue checked bosom told where 
“ the fiery heart of youth ” was located. “ What sought 
they thus afar ? ” he asked, in such a natural and inquir¬ 
ing tone, with his eye fixed on Mamie Peters, that the 
startled innocent replied, “ Dunno,” which caused the 








SPEAKING PIECES. 


237 


speaker to close in haste, devoutly pointing a stubby 
finger upward at the last line. 

This was considered the gem of the collection, and 
Billy took his seat proudly conscious that his native 
town boasted an orator who, in time, would utterly 
eclipse Edward Everett and Wendell Phillips. 

Sally Folsom led oflf with “ The Coral Grove,” chosen 
for the express purpose of making her friend Almira 
Mullet start and blush, when she recited the second 
line of that pleasing poem, 

" Where the purple mullet and gold-fish rove.” 

One of the older girls gave Wordsworth’s “Lost 
liOve ” in a pensive tone, clasping her hands and bring¬ 
ing out the “ O ” as if a sudden twinge of toothache 
seized her when she ended. 

“ But she is in her grave, and O, 

The difference to me 1 ” 

Bab always chose a funny piece, and on this after¬ 
noon set them all laughing by the spirit with which she 
spoke the droll poem, “ Pussy’s Class,” which some of 
my young readers may have read. The “ meou” and 
the “ sptzzs ” were capital, and when the “ fond mam¬ 
ma rubbed her nose,” the children shouted, for Miss 
Bab made a paw of her hand and ended with an im¬ 
promptu purr, which was considered the best imitation 
ever presented to an appreciative public. Betty bash¬ 
fully murmured “ Little White Lily,” swaying to and 
fro as regularly as if in no other way could the rhyunes 
be ground out of her memory. 

“That is all, I believe. If either of the latliea 







238 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


would like to say a few words to the children, 1 should 
be pleased to have them,” said Teacher, politely, paus¬ 
ing before she dismissed school with a song. 

“ Please, ’m, I’d like to speak my piece,” answered 
Miss Celia, obeying a sudden impulse; and, stepping 
forward with her hat in her hand, she made a pretty 
courtesy before she recited ISIary IIoYritt’s sweet little 
ballad, “ Mabel on Midsummer Day.” 

She looked so young and merry, and used such simple 
but expressive gestures, and spoke in such a clear, soft 
voice that the children sat as if spell-bound, learning 
several lessons fi’om this new teacher, whose perform¬ 
ance charmed them from beginning to end, and left a 
moral which all could understand and carry away in that 
last verse, — 


.«•'ji ig gQQjj make all duty sweet 
To be alert and kind ; 
is good, like Little Mabel, 

To have a willing mind.” 

Of course there was an enthusiastic clapping when 
Miss Celia sat down, but even while hands applauded, 
consciences pricked, and undone tasks, complaining 
words and sour faces seemed to rise up reproachfully 
before many of the children, as well as their own faults 
of elocution. 

“ Now we will sing,” said Teacher, and a great clear¬ 
ing of throats ensued, but before a note could be uttered, 
the half-open door swung wide, and Sancho, with Ben’s 
hat on, walked in upon his hind legs, and stood with 
his paws meekly folded, while a voice from the entry 
sang rapidly, — 








SPEAKING PIECES. 


239 


• Benny had a little dog, 

His fleece was white as snow, 

And everywhere that Benny went, 

The dog was sure to go. 

“ He went into the school one day, 

Which was against the rule; 

It made the children laugh and play 
To see a dog — ** 

Mischievous Thorny got no further, for a general 
explosion of laughter drowned the last words, and Ben's 
command “ Out, you rascal I " sent Sanch to the right¬ 
about in double-quick time. 

Miss Celia tried to apologize for her bad brother, and 
Teacher tried to assure her that it didn’t matter in the 
least, as this was always a merry time, and Mrs. Moss 
vainly shook her finger at her naughty daughters ; they 
as well as the others would have their laugh out, and 
only partially sobered down when the bell rang for 
“ Attention.” They thought they were to be dismissed, 
and repressed their giggles as well as they could in 
order to get a good start for a vociferous roar when 
they got out. But, to their great surprise, the pretty 
lady stood up again and said, in her friendly way, — 

“ I just want to thank you for this pleasant little ex¬ 
hibition, and ask leave to come again. I also wish to 
invite you aU to my boy’s bu-thday party on Saturday 
week. The archery meeting is to be in the afternoon, 
and both clubs will be there, I believe. In the evening 
we are going to have some fun, when we can laugh as 
much as we please without breaking any of the rules. 
In Ben’s name I invite you, and hope you will all come, 
for we mean to make this the happiest birthday hs 
ever had.” 







240 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


There were twenty pupils in the room, but the eighty 
hands and feet made such a racket at this announce¬ 
ment that an outsider would have thought a hundred 
children, at least, must have been at it. Miss Celia 
was a general favorite because she nodded to all the 
girls, called the boys by their last names, even address¬ 
ing some of the largest as “ Mr.,” which won their hearts 
at once, so that if she had invited them all to come 
and be whipped they would have gone, sure that it was 
some delightful joke. With what eagerness they 
accepted the present invitation one can easily imagine, 
though they never guessed why she gave it in that way, 
and Ben’s face was a sight to see, he was so pleased 
and proud at the honor done him that he did not know 
where to look, and was glad to rush out with the other 
boys and vent his emotions in whoops of delight. He 
knew that some little plot was being concocted for his 
birthday, but never dreamed of any thing so grand as 
asking the whole school. Teacher and all. The effect 
of the invitation was seen with comical rapidity, for the 
boys became overpowering in their friendly attentions 
to Ben. Even Sam, fearing he might be left out, 
promptly offered the peaceful olive-branch in the shape 
of a big apple, warm from his pocket, and Mose pro¬ 
posed a ti’ade of jack-knives which would be greatly to 
Ben’s advantage. But Thorny made the noblest sacri¬ 
fice of all, for he said to his sister, as they walked home 
together,— 

“I’m not going to try fbr the prize at aU. I shoot 
so much better than the rest, having had more practice, 
you know, that it is hardly fair. Ben and Billy are 
next best, and about even, for Ben’s strong wrist makes 









SPEAKING PIECES. 


241 


up for Billy’s true eye, and both want to Y?in. K I am 
out of the way Ben stands a good chance, for the other 
fellows don’t amount to much.” 

“Bab does; she shoots nearly as well as Ben, and 
wants to win even more than he or Billy. She must 
have her chance at any rate.” 

“So she may, but she won’t do any thing; girls 
can’t, though it’s good exercise and pleases them to 
try.” 

“ If I had full use of both my arms I’d show you 
that gilds can do a great deal when they like. Don’t 
be too lofty, young man, for you may have to come 
down,” laughed Miss Celia, amused by his airs. 

“ No fear,” and Thorny calmly depaided to set his 
targets for Ben’s practice. 

“We shall see,” and from that moment Miss Celia 
made Bab her especial pupil, feeling that a little lesson 
would be good for Mr. Thorny, who rather lorded it 
over the other young people. There was a spice of 
mischief in it, for Miss Celia was very young at heart, 
in spite of her twenty-four years, and she was bound to 
see that her side had a fair chance, believing that gMs 
can do whatever they are willing to strive patiently and 
wisely for. 

So she kept Bab at work early and late, giving her 
all the hints and help she could with only one efficient 
hand, and Bab was delighted to think she did well 
enough to shoot with the club. Her anns ached and 
her fingers grew hard with twanging the bow, but she 
was indefatigable, and being a strong, tall child of her 
age, with a great love of all athletic sports, she got on 
fast and well, soon learning to send arrow after anow 
11 


p 








242 


UNDER THE LILACS, 


with ever increasing accuracy nearer and nearer to the 
bull’s-eye. 

The boys took very little notice of her, being much 
absorbed in their own affairs, but Betty did for Bab 
what Sancho did for Ben, and trotted after arrows till 
her short legs were sadly tired, though her patience 
never gave out. She was so sure Bab would win that 
she cared nothing about her own success, practising 
little and seldom hitting any thing when she tried. 






CHAPTER XX. 


BEN’S BIRTHDAY. 



SUPERB display of flags flapped gayly in the 


breeze on the September morning when Ben 
proudly entered his teens. An irruption of bunting 
seemed to have broken out all over the old house, for 
banners of every shape and size, color and design, flew 
from chimney-top to gable, porch and gate-way, making 
the quiet place look as lively as a circus tent, which 
was just what Ben most desii’ed and delighted in. 

The boj's had been up very early to prepare the show, 
and when it was ready enjoyed it hugely, for the fresh 
wind made the pennons cut strange capers. The winged 
lion of Venice looked as if trying to fly away home; 
the Chinese dragon appeared to brandish his forked 
tail as he clawed at the Burmese peacock; the double¬ 
headed eagle of Russia pecked at the Turkish crescent 
with one beak, while the other seemed to be screaming 
to the English royal beast, “ Come on and lend a paw.*" 
In the hui'ry of hoisting, the Siamese elephant got 
turned upside down, and now danced gayly on his head, 
with the stars and stripes waving proudly over him. A 
green flag with a yellow harp and sprig of shamrock 
hung in sight of the kitchen window, and Katy, the 
cook, got breakfast to the tune of “ St. Patrick’s day 







244 


UNDER THE LILACS, 


in the morning.” Sancho’s kennel was half hidden 
under a rustling paper imitation of the gorgeous Span¬ 
ish banner, and the scarlet sun-and-moon flag of Ai’abia 
snapped and flaunted from the pole over the coach¬ 
house, as a delicate compliment to Lita, Arabian horses 
being considered the finest in the world. 

The little gii’ls came out to see, and declared it wag 
the loveliest sight they ever beheld, while Thorny played 
“Hail Columbia” on his fife, and Ben, mounting the 
gate-post, crowed long and loud like a happy cockerel 
who had just reached his majority. He had been sur¬ 
prised and dehghted with the gifts he found in his room 
on awaking, and guessed why Miss Celia and Thorny 
gave him such pretty things, for among them was a 
match-box made like a mouse-trap. The doggy buttons 
and the horsey whip were treasures indeed, for Miss 
Ceha had not given them when they first planned to do 
so, because Sancho’s return seemed to be joy and re¬ 
ward enough for that occasion. But he did not forget 
to thank Mrs. Moss for the cake she sent him, nor the 
girls for the red mittens which they had secretly and 
painfully knit. Bab’s was long and thin, with a very 
pointed thumb, Betty’s short and wide, with a stubby 
diumb, and aU their mother’s pulling and pressing could 
not make them look alike, to the great affliction of the 
little knitters. Ben, however, assured them that he 
rather preferred odd ones, as then he could always tell 
which was right and which left. He put them on im¬ 
mediately and went about cracking the new whip with an 
expression of content which was droU to see, while the 
children followed after, fuU of admiration for the hero 
of the day. 








BEN^S BIRTHDAY, 


245 


They were very busy all the morning preparing for 
the festivities to come, and as soon as dinner was over 
every one scrambled into his or her best clothes as fast 
as possible, because, although invited to come at two, 
impatient boys and girls were seen hovering about the 
avenue as early as one. 

The first to arrive, however, was an uninvited guest, 
for just as Bab and Betty sat down on the porch 
steps, In their stiff pink calico frocks and white ruffled 
aprons, to repose a moment before the party came in, 
a rustling was heard among the lilacs and out stepped 
Alfred Tennyson Barlow, looking like a small Robin 
Hood, in a green blouse with a silver buckle on his 
broad belt, a feather in his little cap and a bow in his 
hand. 

“ I have come to shoot. I heard about it. My papa 
told me what arching meant. Will there be any little 
cakes ? I like them.” 

With these opening remarks the poet took a seat and 
calmly awaited a response. The young ladies, I regret 
to say, giggled, then remembering their manners, hast¬ 
ened to inform him that there would be heaps of cakes, 
also that Miss Celia would not mind his coming without 
an invitation, they were quite sure. 

“ She asked me to come that day. I have been very 
busy. I had measles. Do you have them here?” 
asked the guest, as if anxious to compare notes on the 
sad subject. 

“ We had ours ever so long ago. What have you 
been doing besides having measles ? ” said Betty, show¬ 
ing a polite interest. 

“ I had a fight with a bumble-bee.” 






246 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


“ Who beat? ” demanded Bab. 

“ I did. I ran away and he couldn’t catch me.” 

“ Can you shoot nicely? ” 

“I hit a cow. She did not mind at all. I guess she 
thought it was a fly.” 

“ Did your mother know you were coming?” asked 
Bab, feeling an interest in runaways. 

“ No; she is gone to drive, so I could not ask her.” 

“It is very wrong to disobey. Sunday-school 

book says that children who are naughty that way never 
go to heaven,” observed virtuous Betty, in a warning 
tone. 

“ I do not wish to go,” was the startling reply. 

“ Why not? ” asked Betty, severely. 

“ They don’t have any dii’t there. My mamma says 
so. I am fond of dirt. I shall stay here where there 
is plenty of it,” and the candid youth began to grub in 
the mould with the satisfaction of a genuine boy. 

“ I am afraid you’re a very bad child.” 

“ Oh yes, I am. My papa often says so and he 
knows all about it,” replied Alfred with an involuntary 
wriggle suggestive of painful memories. Then, as if 
anxious to change the conversation from its somewhat 
personal channel, he asked, pointing to a row of gi’in- 
ning heads above the wall, “ Do you shoot at those? ” 

Bab and Betty looked up quickly and recognized the 
familiar faces of their friends peering down at them, 
like a choice collection of trophies or targets. 

“ I should think you’d be ashamed to peek before the 
party was ready ! ” cried Bab, frowning darkly upon the 
merry young ladies. 

“ Miss Celia told us to come before two, and be read^ 



BEN^S BIRTHDAY. 


247 


to receive folks, if she wasn’t down,” added Betty, im¬ 
portantly. 

“It is striking two now. Come along, girls;” and 
over scrambled Sally Folsom, followed by three or foui 
kindred spirits, just as their hostess appeared. 

“ You look like Amazons storming a fort,” she said, 
as the girls came up, each carrying her bow and arrows, 
while green ribbons flew in every direction. “ How do 
you do, sir? I have been hoping you would call 
again,” added Miss Celia, shaking hands with the 
pretty boy, who regarded with benign interest the 
giver of little cakes. 

Here a rush of boys took place, and further remarks 
were cut short, for every one was in a hurry to begin. 
So the procession was formed at once. Miss Celia taking 
the lead, escorted by Ben in the post of honor, while 
the boys and girls paired oflT behind, arm in arm, bow 
on shoulder, in martial array. Thorny and Billy were 
the band, and marched before, fifing and drumming 
“ Yankee Doodle ” with a vigor which kept feet moving 
briskly, made eyes sparkle, and young hearts dance 
under the gay gowns and summer jackets. The inter¬ 
esting stranger was elected to bear the prize, laid out 
on a red pin-cushion; and did so with great dignity, 
as he went beside the standard-bearer, Cy Fay, who 
bore Ben’s choicest flag, snow-white, with a green wreath 
surrounding a painted bow and arrow, and with the 
letters W. T. C. done in red below. 

Such a merry march all about the place, out at the 
Lodge gate, up and down the avenue, along the winding 
paths, till they halted in the orchard, where the target 
stood, and seats were placed for the archers while they 





248 


UNDER THE L1LAC8. 


waited for their turns. Various rules and regulations 
were discussed, and then the fun began. Miss Celia 
had insisted that the girls should be invited to shoot 
with the boys; and the lads consented without tnuch 
concern, whispering to one another with condescending 
shrugs, “Let ^em try, if they like; they can’t do any 
thing.” 

There were various trials of skill before the great 
match came off, and in these trials the young gentlemen 
discovered that two at least of the girls could do some¬ 
thing ; for Bab and Sally shot better than many of the 
boj'S, and were well rewarded for their exertions by the 
change which took place in the faces and conversation 
of their mates. 

“Why, Bab, you do as well as if I’d taught you 
myself,” said Thorny, much suiprised and not alto¬ 
gether pleased at the little girl’s skill. 

“ A lady taught me ; and I mean to beat every one 
of you,” answered Bab, saucily, while her sparkling 
eyes turned to Miss Celia with a mischievous twinkle 
in them. 

“ Not a bit of it,” declared Thorny, stoutly; but he 
went to Ben and whispered, “ Do your best, old fellow, 
for sister has taught Bab all the scientific points, and 
the little rascal is ahead of Billy.” 

“ She won’t get ahead of me,” said Ben, picking out 
his best arrow, and trying the string of his bow with a 
confident air which re-assured Thorny, who found it 
impossible to believe that a girl ever could, would, or 
sfiould excel a boy in any thing he cared to try. 

It really did look as if Bab would beat when the 
match for the prize came off; and the children got more 




BEN\S BIRTHDAY. 


249 


and more excited as the six who were to try for it took 
turns at the bull’s-eye. Thorny was umpire, and kept 
account of each shot, for the arrow which went nearest 
the middle would win. Each had three shots ; and very 
soon the lookers-on saw that Ben and Bab were the 
Ijest marksmen, and one of them would sm'ely get the 
silver arrow. 

Sam, who was too lazy to practise, soon gave up the 
contest, saying, as Thorny did, “It wouldn’t be fair 
for such a big fellow to try with the little chaps,” which 
made a laugh, as his want of skill was painfully evident. 
But Mose went at it gallantly ; and, if his eye had been 
as true as his anus were strong, the “little chaps” 
would have trembled. But his shots were none of them 
as near as Billy’s ; and he retired after the third failure, 
declaring that it was impossible to shoot against the 
wind, though scarcely a breath was stirring. 

Sally Folsom was bound to beat Bab, and twanged 
away in gi'eat style; all in vain, however, as with tall 
Maria Newcome, the third girl who attempted the trial. 
Being a little near-sighted, she had borrowed her sister’s 
eye-glasses, and thereby lessened her chance of suc¬ 
cess ; for the pinch on her nose distracted her attention, 
and not one of her arrows went beyond the second ring, 
to her great disappointment. Billy did very well, but 
got nervous when his last shot came, and just missed 
the bull’s-eye by being in a hurry. 

Bab and Ben each had one turn more; and, as they 
were about even, that last arrow would decide the vic¬ 
tory. Both had sent a shot into the bull’s-eye, but 
neither was exactly in the middle; so there was room 
to do better, even, and the children crowded round, 
\\* 



250 


UNDER THE LILACS, 


crying eagerly, “Now, Ben!” “Now, Bab!” “Hit 
her up, Ben! ” “ Beat him, Bab ! ” while Thorny looked 
as anxious as if the fate of the country depended on 
the success of his man. Bab’s turn came first; and, as 
Miss Celia examined her bow to see that all was right, 
the little gM said, mth her eyes on her rival’s excited 
face,'— 

“I want to beat, but Ben will feel so bad, I ’most 
hope I sha’n’t.” 

“Losing a prize sometimes makes one happier than 
gaining it. You have proved that you could do better 
than most of them; so, if you do not beat, you may 
stni feel proud,” answered Miss Celia, giving back the 
bow with a smile that said more than her words. 

It seemed to give Bab a new idea, for in a minute 
all sorts of recollections, -wishes, and plans rushed 
through her lively little mind, and she followed a 
sudden generous impulse as blindly as she often did 
a wilful one. 

“I guess he’ll beat,” she said, softly, with a quick 
sparkle of the eyes, as she stepped to her place and fired 
without taking her usual careful aim. 

Her shot struck almost as near the centre on the right 
as her last one had hit on the left; and there was a shout 
of delight from the girls as Thorny announced it before 
ii8 hurried back to Ben, whispering anxiously, — 

“Steady, old man, steady; you must beat that, oi 
we shall never hear the last of it.” 

Ben did not say, “ She won’t get ahead of me,” as 
he had said at the first; he set his teeth, threw off his 
hat, and, knitting his brows with a resolute expression, 
prepared to take steady aim, though his heart beat fast. 






BEN^S BIRTHDAY. 


261 


and liis thumb trembled as he pressed it ou the bow¬ 
string. 

“I hope you’ll beat, I truly do,” said Bab, at his 
elbow; and, as if the breath that framed the generous 
wish helped it on its way, the arrow flew straight to the 
bull’s-eye, hitting, apparently, the very spot where Bab’s 
best shot had left a hole. 

“A tie! a tie!” cried the girls, as a general rush 
took place toward the target. 

“No, Ben’s is nearest. Ben’s beat! Hooray I” 
shouted the boys throwing up their hats. 

There was only a hair’s-breadth difference, and Bab 
could honestly have disputed the decision; but she did 
not, though for an instant she could not help wishing 
that the cry had been “Bab’s beat! Huri’ah!” it 
sounded so pleasant. Then she saw Ben’s beaming 
face. Thorny’s intense relief, and caught the look Miss 
Celia sent her over the heads of the boys, and decided, 
with a sudden warm glow aU over her little face, that 
losing a prize did sometimes make one happier than 
winning it. Up went her best hat, and she burst out 
in a shrill, “ Rah, rah, rah! ” that sounded very 
funn}^ coming all alone after the general clamor had 
subsided. 

“ Good for you, Bab ! you are an honor to the club, 
and I’m proud of you,” said Prince Thorny, with a 
hearty hand-shake ; for, as his man had won, he could 
afford to praise the rival who had put him on his mettle, 
though she was a girl. 

Bab was much uplifted by the royal commendation, 
but a few minutes later felt pleased as well as proud 
when Ben, having received the prize, came to her, as 








252 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


she stood behind a tree sucking her blistered thumb, 
while Betty braided up her dishevelled locks. 

“ I think it would be fairer to call it a tie, Bab, foi 
it really was, and I want you to wear this. I wanted 
the fun of beating, but I don’t care a bit for this girl’s 
thing, and I’d rather see it on you.” 

As he spoke, Ben offered the rosette of green ribbon 
?^hich held the silver arrow, and Bab’s eyes brightened 
as they fell upon the pretty ornament, for to her “ the 
girl’s thing ” was almost as good as the .victory. 

“ Oh no; you must wear it to show who won. Miss 
Celia wouldn’t like it. I don’t mind not getting it; I 
did better than aU the rest, and I guess I shouldn’t like 
to beat yoM,” answered Bab, unconsciously putting into 
childish words the sweet generosity which makes so 
many sisters glad to see their brothers cany off the 
prizes of life, while they are content to know that they 
have earned them and can do without the praise. 

But if Bab was generous, Ben was just; and though 
he could not explain the feeling, would not consent to 
take aU the glory without giving his little friend a share. 

“You must wear it; I shall feel real mean if you 
don’t. You worked harder than I did, and it was only 
luck my getting this. Do, Bab, to please me,” he per¬ 
sisted, awkwardly trying to fasten the ornament in the 
middle of Bab’s white apron. 

“ Then I will. Now do you forgive me for losing 
Sancho?” asked Bab, with a wistful look which made 
Ben say, heartily, — 

“ I did that when he came home.” 

“ And you don’t think I’m horrid? ” 

“ Not a bit of it; you are first-rate, and I ’ll stand 


BEN^S BIRTHDAY. 


253 


by you like a man, for you are ’most as good as a hoy I ’ 
cried Ben, anxious to deal handsomely with his feminine 
rival, whose skill had raised her immensely in his 
opinion. 

Feeling that he could not improve that last compli¬ 
ment, Bab was fully satisfied, and let him leave the 
piize upon her breast, conscious that she had some 
claim to it. 

“ That is where it should be, and Ben is a true 
knight, winning the prize that he may give it to his 
lady, while he is content with the victory,” said Miss 
Celia, laughingly, to Teacher, as the children ran oflT 
to join in the riotous games which soon made the or¬ 
chard ring. 

“ He learned that at the circus ‘ tunnyments,’ as he 
calls them. He is a nice boy, and I am much in¬ 
terested in him ; for he has the two things that do most 
toward making a man, patience and courage,” answered 
Teacher, smiling also as she watched the young knight 
play leap-frog, and the honored lady tearing about in a 
game of tag. 

“ Bab is a nice child, too,” said Miss Celia; “ she is 
as quick as a flash to catch an idea and carry it out, 
though very often the ideas are wild ones. She could 
have won just now, I fancy, if she had tried, but took 
the notion into her head that it was nobler to let Ben 
win, and so atone for the trouble she gave him in losing 
the dog. I saw a very sweet look on her face just now, 
and am sure that Ben will never know why he beat.” 

“ She does such things at school sometimes, and I 
can’t bear to spoil her little atonements, though they 
are not always needed or very wise,” answered Teacher. 





254 


UNDER THE LILACS, 


“Not long ago I found that she had been giving her 
lunch day after day to a poor child who seldom had any, 
and when I asked her why, she said, with tears, ‘ 1 
flsed to laugh at Abby, because she had only crusty, 
dry bread, and so she wouldn’t bring any. I ou^ht to 
give her mine and be hungry, it was so mean to make 
fun of her poorness.” 

“ Did 3 ’ou stop the sacrifice?” 

“ No; I let Bab ‘ go halves,’ and added an extra bit 
to my own lunch, so I could make my contribution 
likewise.” 

“ Come and tell me about Abby. I want to make 
friends with our poor people, for soon I shall have a 
right to help them ; ” and, putting her arai in Teacher’s, 
Miss Celia led her away for a quiet chat in the porch, 
making her guest’s visit a happ}" holiday by confiding 
several plans and asking advice in the friendliest way. 





CHAPTER XXI. 


CUPID'S LAST APPEARANCE. 

PICNIC supper on the grass followed the games, 



\ and then, as twilight began to fall, the young 
people were marshalled to the coach-house, now trans¬ 
formed into a rustic theatre. One big door was open, 
and seats, arranged lengthwise, faced the red table-cloths 
which formed the curtain. A row of lamps made very 
good foot-lights, and an invisible band performed a 
Wagner-like overture on combs, tin trumpets, drums, 
and pipes, with an accompaniment of suppressed 
laughter. 

^lany of the children had never seen any thing like 
it, and sat staring about them in mute admiration and 
expectancy; but the older ones criticised freely, and 
indulged in wild speculations as to the meaning of 
various convulsions of nature going on behind the 
cui’tain. 

While Teacher was dressing the actresses for the 
tragedy, Miss Celia and Thorny, who were old hands 
at this sort of amusement, gave a “Potato” pantomime 
as a side show. 

Across an empty stall a green cloth was fastened, so 
high that the heads of the operators were not seen. A 
little curtain flew up, disclosing the front of a Chinese 







256 


UNDER THE LILACS, 


pagoda painted on pasteboard, with a door and windo'w 
which opened quite naturally. This stood on one side, 
several gi-een trees with paper lanterns hanging from 
the boughs were on the other side, and the words “Tea 
Garden,” printed over the top, showed the nature of 
this charming spot. 

Few of the children had ever seen the immortal 
Punch and Judy, so this was a most agreeable novelty, 
and before they could make out what it meant, a 
voice began to sing, so distinctly that every word was 
heard, — 

“ In China there lived a little man, 

His name was Chingery Wangery Chan.” 

Here the hero “took the stage” with great dignity, 
clad in a loose yellow jacket over a blue skirt, which 
concealed the hand that made his body. A pointed 
hat adorned his head, and on removing this to bow he 
disclosed a bald pate with a black queue in the middle, 
and a Chinese face nicely painted on the potato, the 
lower part of which was hollowed out to fit Thorny’s 
first finger, while his thumb and second finger were in 
the sleeves of the yellow jacket, making a lively pair of 
arms. While he saluted, the song went on, — 

“ His legs were short, his feet were small. 

And this little man could not walk at all.” 

Which assertion was proved to be false by the agility 
with which the “ little man” danced a jig in time to 
the rollicking chorus, — 

“ Chingery changery ri co day, 

Ekel tekel happy man ; 

Uron odesko canty oh, oh, 

GaUopy wallopy China go.” 




CUPlD^S LAST APPEARANCE. 


257 


At the close of the dance and chorus, Chan retired 
into the tea garden, and drank so many cups of the 
national beverage, with such comic gestures, that the 
spectators were almost sorry when the opening of 
the opposite window drew all eyes in that direction. 
At the lattice appeared a lovely being; for this potato 
had been pared, and on the white sm*face were painted 
pretty pink cheeks, red lips, black eyes, and oblique 
brows ; through the tuft of dark silk on the head were 
stuck several glittering pins, and a pink jacket shrouded 
the plump figure of this capital little Chinese lady. 
After peeping coyly out, so that all could see and ad¬ 
mire, she feU to counting the money from a pm*se, 
so large her small hands could hardly hold it on the 
window seat. While she did this, the song went on to 
explain, — 

“ Miss Ei Hi was short and squat. 

She had money and he had not; 

So off to her he resolved to go, 

And play her a tune on his little banjo.” 

During the chorus to this verse Chan was seen tun¬ 
ing his instrument in the garden, and at the end 
sallied gallantly forth to sing the following tender 
strain, — 

" Whang fun li, 

Tang hua ki, 

Hong Kong do ra me! 

Ah sin lo. 

Pan to fo, 

Tsing up chin leute 1 ” 

Carried away by his passion, Chan dropped his 
banjo, fell upon his knees, and, clasping his hands. 






258 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


bowed liis forehead in the dust before his idol. But, 
alas! — 

“ Miss Ki Hi heard his notes of love, 

And held her wash-bowl up above; 

It fell upon the little man, 

And this was the end of Chingery Chan.” 

Indeed it was; for, as the doll’s basin of real water 
was cast forth by the cruel charmer, poor Chan expired 
in such strong con^uilsions that his head rolled down 
among the audience. Miss Ki Hi peeped to see what 
had become of her victim, and the shutter decapitated 
her likewise, to the great delight of the children, who 
passed around the heads, pronouncing a ‘‘Potato” pan¬ 
tomime “ first-rate fun.” 

Then they settled themselves for the show, having 
been assured by Manager Thorny that they were about 
to behold the most elegant and varied combination ever 
produced on any stage. And when one reads the fol¬ 
lowing very inadequate description of the somewhat 
mixed entertainment, it is impossible to deny that the 
promise made was nobly kept. 

After some delay and several crashes behind the 
curtain, which mightily amused the audience, the per- 
foimance began with the weU-known tragedy of “ Blue¬ 
beard ; ” for Bab had set her heart upon it, and the 
young folks had acted it so often in their plays that 
it was very easy to get up, with a few extra touches 
to scenery and costumes. Thorny was superb as the 
t\Tant with a beard of bright blue worsted, a slouched 
hat and long feather, fur cloak, red hose, rubber boots, 
and a real sword which clanked tragically as he walked. 
He spoke in such a deep voice, knit his corked eye^ 




CUPID^S LAST APPEARANCE, 


259 


brows, and glared so frightfully, that it was no wonder 
poor Fatiroa quaked before him as he gave into her 
keeping an immense bunch of keys with one particularly 
big, bright one, among them. 

Bab was fine to see, with Miss Celia’s blue dress 
sweeping behind her, a white plume in her flowing hair, 
and a real necklace with a pearl locket about her neck. 
She did her part capitally, especially the shriek she 
gave when she looked into the fatal closet, the energy 
with which she scrubbed the tell-tale key, and her dis- 
fcracte' tone when she called out: “Sister Anne, O, 
sister Anne, do you see an3"body coming ? ” while her 
enraged husband was roaring: “Will }"ou come down, 
madam, or shall I come and fetch you?” 

Bett}^ made a captivating Anne, — all in white mus 
lin, and a hat full of such lovely pink roses that she 
could not help putting up one hand to feel them as she 
stood on the steps looking out at the little window for 
the approaching brothers, who made such a din that it 
sounded like a dozen horsemen instead of two. 

Ben and Billy were got up regardless of expense in 
the way of arms ; for their belts were perfect arsenals, 
and their wooden swords were big enough to strike ter¬ 
ror into any soul, though they struck no sparks out of 
Blue-beard’s blade in the awful combat which preceded 
the villain’s downfall and death. 

The boj’s enjo^^ed this part intensely, and cries of 
“Go it, Ben!” “ Hit him again, BiUy I ” “Two against 
one isn’t fair! ” “ Thorny’s a match for ’em.” “ Now 
he’s down, hurray I ” cheered on the combatants, tiU, 
after a terrific struggle, the tyrant fell, and with con¬ 
vulsive twitchings of the scarlet legs, slowly expired! 





260 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


while the ladies sociably fainted in each other^s amis, 
and the brothers waved their swords and shook hands 
over the corse of their enemy. 

This piece was rapturousl}’’ applauded, and all the 
performers had to appear and bow their thanks, led by 
the defunct Blue-beard, who mildly warned the eiteited 
audience that if they “ didn’t look out the seats would 
break down, and then there’d be a nice mess.” Calmed 
by this fear they composed themselves, and waited with 
ardor for the next pla3% which promised to be a lively 
one, judging from the shrieks of laughter which came 
from behind the curtain. 

“ Sanch’s going to be in it, I know ; for I heard Ben 
say, ‘ Hold him still; he won’t bite,’ ” whispered Sam, 
longing to “jounce” up and down, so great was his 
satisfaction at the prospect, for the dog was considered 
the star of the company. 

“I hope Bab will do something else, she is so funny. 
Wasn’t her dress elegant?” said Sally Folsom, burning 
to wear a long silk gown and a feather in her hair. 

“ I like Betty best, she’s so cunning, and she peeked 
out of the window just as if she really saw somebody 
coming,” answered Liddy Peckham^, privately resolving 
to tease mother for some pink roses before another Sun¬ 
day came. 

Up went the curtain at last, and a voice announced 
“ A Tragedy in Three Tableaux.” “ There’s Betty 1 ” 
was the general exclamation, as the audience recognized 
a familiar face under the little red hood worn by the 
child who stood receiving a basket from Teacher, who 
made a nice mother with her finger up, as if telling the 
small messenger not to loiter by the way. 


A 



CUPID’S LAST APPEARANCE. 


261 


“ I know what that is! ” cried Sally; “ it's ‘ Mabel 
on Midsummer Day.’ The piece Miss Celia spoke; 
don’t you know ? ” 

“There isn’t any sick baby, and Mabel had a ‘ker¬ 
chief pinned about her head.’ I say it’s Ked Riding 
Hood,” answered Liddy, who had begun to learn Mary 
Howitt’s pretty poem for her next piece, and knew 
all about it. 

The question was settled by the appearance of the 
wolf in the second scene, and such a wolf! On few 
amateur stages do we find so natural an actor for that 
part, or so good a costume, for Sanch was irresistibly 
droll in the gra}" wolf-skin which usually lay beside Miss 
Celia’s bed, now fitted over his back and fastened neatly 
down underneath, with his own face peeping out at one 
end, and the handsome tail bobbing gaily at the other. 
What a comfort that tail was to Sancho, none but a 
bereaved bow-wow could ever tell. It reconciled him to 
his distasteful part at once, it made rehearsals a joy, 
and even before the public he could not resist turning 
to catch a glimpse of the noble appendage, while his 
own brief member wagged with the proud consciousness 
that though the tail did not match the head, it was long 
enough to be seen of all men and dogs. 

That was a pretty picture, for the little maid came 
walking in with the basket on her arm, and such an 
innocent face inside the bright hood that it was quite 
natural the gray wolf should trot up to her with 
deceitful friendliness, that she should pat and talk 
to him confidingly about the butter for grandma, and 
then that they should walk away together, he politely 
carrying her basket, she with her hand on his head, 








2(5 


UNDER THE LILACS, 


little dreaming what evil plans were taking shape 
inside. 

The children encored that, but there was no time to 
repeat it, so they listened to more stifled merriment be¬ 
hind the red table-cloths, and wondered whether the 
next scene would be the wolf popping his head out of 
the window as Red Riding Hood knocks, or the tragic 
end of that sweet child. 

It was neither, for a nice bed had been made, and in 
it reposed the false grandmother, with a ruffled night¬ 
cap on, a white gown, and spectacles. Betty lay be¬ 
side the wolf, staring at him as if just about to say, 
“ Why, grandma, what great teeth you ’ve got! ” for 
Sancho’s mouth was half open and a red tongue hung 
out, as he panted with the exertion of keeping still. 
This tableau was so very good, and yet so funny, that 
the children clapped and shouted frantically; this 
excited the dog, who gave a bounce and would have 
leaped off the bed to bark at the rioters, if Betty had 
not caught him by the legs, and Thorny dropped the 
curtain just at the moment when the wicked wolf was 
apparently in the act of devouring the poor little girl, 
with most effective growls. 

They had to come out then, and did so, both much 
dishevelled by the late tussle, for Sancho’s cap was all 
over one eye, and Betty’s hood was anywhere but on 
her head. She made her courtesy prettily, however; 
hei fellow-actor ])owed with as much dignity as a short 
night-gown permitted, and they retired to their well- 
earned repose. 

Then Thorny, looking much excited, appeared to 
make the foUowing request: “'As one of the actors in 


CUPID^S LAST APPEARAJSiCE. 


263 


the next piece is new to the business, the company must 
all keep as still as mice, and not stir till I give the word. 
It ’a perfectly splendid! so don’t you spoil it by making 
a row.” 

“ '\Yhat da you suppose it is? ” asked every one, and 
listened with all their might to get a hint, if possible. 
But what they heard only whetted their curiosity and 
mystified them more and more. Bab’s voice cried in a 
loud whisper, “Isn’t Ben beautiful?” Then there was 
a thumping noise, and Miss Celia said, in an anxious 
tone, “ Oh, do be careful,” while Ben laughed out as if 
he was too happy to care who heard him, and Thorny 
bawled “ Wlioa! ” in a way which would have atti*actcd 
attention if Lita’s head had not popped out of her box, 
more than once, to survey the invaders of her abode, 
with a much astonished expression. 

“Sounds kind of circusy, don’t it?” said Sam to 
Billy, who had come out to receive the compliments of 
the company and enjoy the tableau at a safe distance. 

“ You just wait till you see what’s coming. It beats 
any circus I ever saw,” answered Billy, rubbing Ids 
hands with the air of a man who had seen many instead 
of but one. 

“ Ready I Be quick and get out of the way when 
she goes off! ” whispered Ben, but they heard him and 
prepared for pistols, rockets or combustibles of some 
sort, as ships were impossible under the circumstances, 
and no other “ she ” occurred to them. 

A unanimous ‘ ‘ O-o-o-o! ” was heard when the cur¬ 
tain rose, but a stem “ Hush! ” from Thorny kept them 
mutely staring with all their eyes at the gi’and spectacle 
of the evening. There stood Lita with a wide flat saddle 









264 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


on her back, a white head-stall and reins, blue rosettes 
in her ears, and the look of a much-bewildered beast m 
her bright eyes. But who the gauzy, spangled, winged 
creature was, with a gilt crown on its head, a httle bow 
in its hand, and one white slipper in the air, while the 
otlier seemed merely to touch the saddle, no one could 
tell for a minute, so strange and splendid did the appari¬ 
tion appear. No wonder Ben was not recognized in 
this brilliant disguise, which was more natural to him 
than Billy’s blue flannel or Thornj^’s respectable gar¬ 
ments. He had so begged to be allowed to show him¬ 
self “just once,” as he used to be in the days when 
“ father ” tossed him up on the bare-backed old General, 
for hundreds to see and admire, that Miss Ceha had 
consented, much against her will, and hastily arranged 
some bits of spangled tarlatan over the white cotton suit 
which was to simulate the regulation tights. Her old 
dancing slippers fitted, and gold paper did the rest, 
while Ben, sure of his power over Lita, promised not 
to break his bones, and hved for days on the thought 
of the moment when he could show the boys that he 
had not boasted vainly of past splendors. 

Before the delighted children could get their breath, 
Lita gave signs of her dislike to the foot-lights, and, 
gathering up the reins that lay on her neck, Ben gave 
tlie old cry, “Houpda!” and let her go, as he had 
often done before, straight out of the coach-house for a 
gallop round the orchard. 

“ Just turn about and you can see perfectly well, but 
stay where you are till he comes back,” commanded 
Thorny, as signs of commotion appeared in the excited 
audience. 


CUPID’S LAST APPEARANCE. 


265 


Round went the twentj^ children as if turned by one 
crank, and sitting there they looked out into the moon¬ 
light where the shining figure flashed to and fro, now so 
tiear they could see the smiling face under the crown, 
Qow so far away that it glittered like a fii’e-fly among 
the dusky green. Lita enjoyed that race as heartily 
as she had done several others of late, and caracoled 
about as if anxious to make up for her lack of skill by 
sp^d and obedience. How much Ben liked it there is 
no need to tell, yet it was a proof of the good which 
three months of a quiet, useful life had done him, that 
even as he pranced gayly under the boughs thick with 
the red and yellow apples almost ready to be gathered, 
he found this riding in the fresh air with only his 
mates for an audience pleasanter than the crowded tent, 
the tired horses, profane men, and painted women, 
friendly as some of them had been to him. 

After the first burst was over, he felt rather glad, on 
the whole, that he was going back to plain clothes, 
helpful school, and kindly people, who cared more to 
have him a good boy than the most famous Cupid that 
ever stood on one leg with a fast horse under him. 

“ You may make as much noise as you like, now; 
Lita’s had her run and will be as quiet as a lamb after it 
Pull up, Ben, and come in ; sister says you ’ll get cold,” 
shouted Thorny, as the rider came cantering round 
after a leap over the lodge gate and back again. 

So Ben pulled up, and the admiring boys and girls 
were allowed to gather about him, loud in their praises 
as they examined the pretty mare and the my-thological 
character who lay easily on her back. He looked very 
little like the god of love now; for he had lost one 






266 


UNDER THE LILACS, 


slipper and splashed his white legs with dew and dust, 
the crown had shpped down upon his neck, and the 
paper wings hung in an apple-tree where he had left 
them as he went by. No trouble in recognizing Ben, 
now; but somehow he didn’t want to be seen, and, in¬ 
stead of staying to be praised, he soon slipped away, 
m akin g Lita his excuse to vanish behind the curtain 
while the rest went into the house to have a finishing-off 
game of blindman’s-bufiT in the big kitchen. 

“Well, Ben, are you satisfied?” asked Miss Ceha, 
as she stayed a moment to unpin the remains of his 
gauzy scarf and tunic. 

“ Yes’m, thank you, it was tip-top.” 

“ But you look rather sober. Are you tired, or is it 
because you don’t want to take these trappings oflT and 
be plain Ben again ? ” she said, looking down into his face 
as he lifted it for her to free him from his gilded collar. 

“I want to take’em oflT; for somehow I don’t feel 
respectable,” and he kicked away the crown he had 
helped to make so carefully, adding with a glance that 
said more than his words: “ I’d rather be ‘ plain Ben * 
than any one else, for you like to have me.” 

“ Indeed I do ; and I’m so glad to hear you say that, 
because I was afraid you’d long to be off to the old 
ways, and all I’ve tried to do would be undone. Would 
you like to go back, Ben ? ” and Miss Celia held his 
chin an instant, to watch the brown face that looked so 
honestly back at her. 

“ No, I wouldn’t — unless — he was there and wanted 
me ” 

The chin quivered just a bit, but the black eyes were 
as bright as ever, and the boy’s voice so earnest, she 



CUPID^S LAST APPEARANCE. 


2G7 


knew he spoke the ti’uth, and laid her white hand softly 
on his head, as she answered in the tone he loved so 
much, because no one else had ever used it to him, — 

“ Father is not there; but I know he wants you, 
dear, and I am sure he would rather see you in a home 
like this than in the place you came from. Now go and 
dress ; but, tell me first, has it been a happy birthday ? ” 
“Oh, Miss Celia! I didn’t know they could be so 
beautifiil, and this is the beautifulest part of it; I don’t 
know how to thank you, but I’m going to try — ” and, 
finding words wouldn’t come fast enough, Ben just put 
his two arms round her, quite speechless with gratitude ; 
then, as if ashamed of his little outburst, he knelt 
down in a great hurry to untie his one shoe. 

But Miss Celia liked his answer better than the finest 
speech ever made her, and went away through the moon¬ 
light, saying to herself, — 

“ If I can bring one lost lamb into the fold I shall 
be the fitter for a shepherd’s wife, by-and-by.” 








CHAPTER XXn. 


A BOTS BARGAIN, 

I T was some days before the children were tired of 
talking over Ben’s birthday party; for it was a 
great event in their small world ; but, gradually, newer 
pleasures came to occupy their minds, and they began 
to plan the nutting frolics which always followed the 
early frosts. While waiting for Jack to open the 
chestnut burrs, they varied the monotony of school 
life by a lively scrimmage long known as “the wood- 
pile fight.” 

The girls liked to play in the half-empty shed, and 
the boys, merely for the fun of teasing, declared that 
they should not, so blocked up the door-way as fast as 
the girls cleared it. Seeing that the squabble was a 
merry one, and the exercise better for all than lounging 
in the sun or reading in school during recess. Teacher 
did not interfere, and the barrier rose and fell almost as 
regularly as the tide. 

It would be difficult to say which side worked the 
harder; for the boys went before school began to build 
up the barricade, and the gii’ls stayed after lessons 
were over to pull down the last one made in afternoon 
recess. They had their play-time first; and, while the 
boys waited inside, they heard the shouts of the girls, 



A BOTS BARGAIN. 


269 


the banging of the wood, and the final crash, as the 
well-packed pile went down. Then, as the lassies came 
in, rosy, breathless, and triumphant, the lads rushed out 
to man the breach, and iabor gallantly till all was as 
tight as hard blows could make it. 

So the battle raged, and bruised knuckles, splinters 
in fingers, torn clothes, and rubbed shoes, were the only 
wounds received, while a great deal of fun was had out 
of the maltreated logs, and a lasting peace secured 
between two of the boys. 

When the party was safely over, Sam began to fall 
into his old way of tormenting Ben by calling names, 
as it cost no exertion to invent trying speeches, and 
slyly utter them when most likely to annoy. Ben 
bore it as well as he could ; but fortune favored him at 
last, as it usually does the patient, and he was able to 
make his own terms with his tormentor. 

When the girls demolished the wood-pile, they per¬ 
formed a jubilee chorus on combs, and tin kettles, 
played like tambourines; the boys celebrated their 
victories with shrill whistles, and a drum accompani¬ 
ment with fists on the shed walls. Billy brought his 
drum, and this was such an addition that Sam hunted 
up an old one of his little brother’s, in order that he 
might join the drum corps. He had no sticks, however, 
and, casting about in his mind for a good substitute for 
the genuine thing, bethought him of bulrushes. 

“ Those will do first-rate, and there are lots in the 
ma’sh, if I can only get ’em,” he said to himself, 
and turned off from the road on his way home to get 
a supply. 

Now, this marsh was a treacherous spot, and the 


270 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


tragic story was told of a cow who got in there and 
sank till nothing was visible but a pair of horns above 
the mud, which suffocated the unwary beast. For tMs 
reason it was called “ Cowslip Marsh,” the wags said, 
though it was generally believed to be so named for the 
yellow flowers which grew there in great profusion in 
the spring. 

Sam had seen Ben hop nimbly from one tuft of grass 
to another when he went to gather cowslips for Betty, 
and the stout boy thought he could do the same. Two 
or three heavy jumps landed him, not among the bul¬ 
rushes, as he had hoped, but in a pool of muddy water, 
where he sank up to his middle with alarming rapidity. 
Much scared, he tried to wade out, but could only 
flounder to a tussock of grass, and cling there, while 
he endeavored to kick his legs free. He got them out, 
but struggled in vain to coil them up or to hoist his 
heavy body upon the very small island in this sea of 
mud. Down they splashed again; and Sam gave a 
dismal groan as he thought of the leeches and water- 
snakes which might be lying in wait below. Visions 
of the lost cow also flashed across his agitated mind, 
and he gave a despairing shout very like a disfracted 
“Moo!” 

Few people passed along the lane, and the sun was 
setting, so the prospect of a night in the marsh nerved 
Sam to make a frantic plunge toward the buh-ush island, 
which was nearer than the main-land, and looked firmer 
than any tussock round him. But he failed to reach 
this haven of rest, and was forced to stop at an old 
stump which stuck up, looking very like the moss-grown 
horns of the “dear departed.” Roosting here, Sam 




A BOrs BARGAIN, 


271 


began to shout for aid in every key possible to the 
human voice. Such hoots and howls, whistles and 
roars, never woke the echoes of the lonely marsh be¬ 
fore, or scared the portly frog who resided there in calm 
seclusion. 

He hardly expected any reply but the astonished 
“ Caw! of the crow, who sat upon a fence watching 
him with gloomy interest; and when a cheerful “ Hullo, 
there ! ” sounded from the lane, he was so grateful that 
tears of joy rolled down his fat cheeks. 

“Come on! I’m in the ma’sh. Lend a hand and 
get me out! ” bawled Sam, anxiously waiting for his 
deliverer to appear, for he could only see a hat bob¬ 
bing along behind the hazel-bushes that fringed the 
lane. 

Steps crashed through the bushes, and then over the 
wall came an active figure, at the sight of which Sam 
was almost ready to dive out of sight, for, of all pos¬ 
sible boys, who should it be but Ben, the last person in 
the world whom he would like to have see him in his 
present pitiful plight. 

“ Is it you, Sam? Well, you are in a nice fix I ” and 
Ben’s eyes began to twinkle with mischievous merriment, 
as well they might, for Sam certainly was a spectacle 
to convulse the soberest person. Perched unsteadily 
on the gnarled stump, with his muddy legs drawn up, 
his dismal face splashed with mud, and the whole lower 
half of his body as black as if he had been dipped in 
an inkstand, he presented such a comically doleful 
object that Ben danced about, laughing like a naughty 
will-o’-the-wisp who, having led a traveller astray, then 
fell to jeering at him. 



272 


UNDER THE LILACS, 


“Stop that, or I’ll knock your head off!” roared 
Sam, in a rage. 

“Come on and do it; I give you leave,” answered 
Ben, sparring away derisively as the other tottered on 
his perch, and was fbrced to hold tight lest he should 
tumble off. 

“ Don’t laugh, there’s a good chap, but fish me out 
somehow, or I shall get my death sitting here all wet 
and cold,” whined Sam, changing his tone, and feeling 
bitterly that Ben had the upper hand now. 

Ben felt it also; and, though a very good-natured 
boy, could not resist the temptation to enjoy this ad¬ 
vantage for a moment at least. 

“ I won’t laugh if I can help it; only you do look so 
like a fat, speckled frog, I may not be able to hold in. 
I ’ll pull you out pretty soon; but first I’m going to talk 
to you, Sam,” said Ben, sobering down as he took a 
seat on the little point of land nearest the stranded 
Samuel. 

“Hurry up, then; I’m as stiff as a board now, and 
it’s no fun sitting here on this knotty old thing,” growled 
Sam, with a discontented squirm. 

“ Dare say not, but ‘ it is good for you,’ as you say 
when you rap me over the head. Look here, I ’ve got 
you in a tight place, and I don’t mean to help you a 
bit till you promise to let me alone. Now then! ” and 
Ben’s face grew stern with his remembered wrongs as 
he grimly eyed his discomfited foe. 

“ I’ll promise fast enough if you won’t tell any one 
about this,” answered Sam, surveying himself and his 
surroundings with great disgust. 

“ I shall do as I like about that.” 


A SOrS BARGAIN. 


278 


“Then I won’t promise a thing! I’m not going 
to have the whole school laughing at me,” protested 
Sam, who hated to be ridiculed even more than Ben 
did. 

“ Very well; good-night! ” and Ben walked off with 
his hands in his pockets as coolly as if the bog wag 
Sam’s favorite retreat. 

“ Hold on, don’t be in such a hurry ! ” shouted Sam, 
seeing little hope of rescue if he let this chance go. 

“ All right! ” and back came Ben, ready for further 
negotiations. 

“I’ll promise not to plague you, if you’ll promise 
not to teU on me. Is that what you want?” 

“ Now I come to think of it, there is one thing more. 
I like to make a good bargain when I begin,” said Ben, 
with a shrewd air. “ You must promise to keep Mose 
quiet, too. He follows your lead, and if you teU him 
to stop it he win. If I was big enough, I’d make you 
hold your tongues. I ain’t, so we ’U tr}^ this way.” 

“Yes, yes. I’ll see to Mose. Now, bring on a rail, 
there’s a good fellow. I’ve got a horrid cramp in my 
legs,” began Sam, thinking he had bought help dearly, 
yet admiring Ben’s cleverness in making the most of 
his chance. 

Ben brought the rail, but, just as he was about to laj 
it from the main-land to the nearest tussock, he stopped) 
saving, with the naughty twinkle in his black eyes again, 
“ One more little thing must be settled first, and then 
I ’ll get you ashore. Promise you won’t plague the girls 
either, ’specially Bab and Betty. You pull their hair, 
and they don’t like it.” 

“ Don’t neither I Wouldn’t touch that Bab for a do! 





274 


UNDER THE LILACS 


lar; she scratches and bites like a mad cat,” was Sam’s 
sulky reply. 

“Glad of it; she can take care of herself. Betty 
can’t; and if you touch one of her pig-tails I ’ll up and 
teU right out how I found you snivelling in the ma’sh 
iike a great baby. So now! ” and Ben emphasized his 
threat with a blow of the suspended rail which splashed 
the water over poor Sam, quenching his last spark of 
resistance. 

“Stop! Iwilll —IwiU!” 

“True as you live and breathe!” demanded Ben, 
sternly binding him by the most solemn oath he knew. 

“True as I live and breathe,” echoed Sam, dole¬ 
fully relinquishing his favorite pastime of pulling Betty’s 
braids and asking if she was at home. 

“I’ll come over there and crook fingers on the bar¬ 
gain,” said Ben, settling the rail and running over it to 
the tuft, then bridging another pool and crossing again 
till he came to the stump. 

“I never thought of that way,” said Sam, watching 
him with much inward chagiin at his own failure. 

“I should think you’d written ‘Look before you 
leap,’ in your copy-book often enough to get the idea 
into your stupid head. Come, crook,” commanded 
Ben, leaning forward with extended little finger. 

Sam obediently performed the ceremony, and then 
Ben sat astride one of the horns of the stump while the 
muddy Crusoe went slowly across the rail from point to 
point till he landed safely on the shore, when he turned 
about and asked with an ungrateful jeer, — 

“Now what’s going to become of you, old Look 
before-you-leap ? ” 


A BOTS BARGAIN. 


276 


“ Mud turtles can only sit on a stump and bawl till 
they are taken off, but frogs have legs worth something, 
and are not afraid of a little water,” answered Ben, 
hopping away in an opposite direction, since the pools 
between him and Sam were too wide for even his lively 
legs. 

Sam waddled off to the brook in the lane to 
rinse the mud from his nether man before facing his 
mother, and was just wringing himself out when Ben 
came up, breathless but good-natured, for he felt that 
he had made an excellent bargain for himself and 
friends. 

“ Better wash your face ; it’s as speckled as a tiger 
lily. Here’s my handkerchief if yours is wet,” he said, 
pulling out a dingy article which had evidently already 
done service as a towel. 

“ Don’t want it,” muttered Sam, gruffly, as he poured 
the water out of his muddy shoes. 

was taught to say ‘Thanky’ when folks got me 
out of scrapes. But you never had much bringing up, 
though you do ‘ live in a house with a gambrel roof,’ ” 
retorted Ben, sarcastically quoting Sam’s frequent boast; 
then he walked off, much disgusted with the ingratitude 
of man. 

Sam forgot his manners, but he remembered hia 
promise, and kept it so well that all the school won¬ 
dered. No one could guess the secret of Ben’s power 
over him, though it was evident that he had gained it 
in some sudden way, for at the least sign of Sam’s 
former tricks Ben would crook his little finger and wag 
it wamingly, or call out “ Bukushes! ” and Sam sub¬ 
sided with reluctant submission, to tlie great amaze- 


276 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


ment of his mates. When asked what it meant, Sam 
turned sulky; but Ben had much fun out of it, assur¬ 
ing the other boys that those were the signs and pass¬ 
word of a secret society to which he and Sam belonged, 
and promised to tell them all about it if Sam would give 
him leave, which, of course, he would not. 

This mystery, and the vain endeavors to find it out 
caused a lull in the war of the wood-pile, and before 
any new game was invented something happened which 
gave the children plenty to talk about for a time. 

A week after the secret aUiance was formed, Ben ran 
m one evening with a letter for Miss Celia. He found 
her enjoying the cheery blaze of the pine-cones the little 
girls had picked up for her, and Bab and Betty sat in 
the small chairs rocking luxuriously as they took turns 
to throw on the pretty fuel. Miss Celia turned quickly 
to receive the expected letter, glanced at the writing, 
post-mark and stamp, with an air of delighted sui-prise, 
then clasped it close in both hands, sa^dng, as she hur¬ 
ried out of the room, — 

“He has come! he has come! Now you may tell 
them. Thorny.” 

“ Tell us what?” asked Bab, pricking up her ears at 
onoe. 

“ Oh, it’s only that George has come, and I suppose 
we shall go and get mamed right away,” answered 
Thorny, rubbing his hands as if he enjoyed the pros¬ 
pect. 

“Are you going to be married?” asked Betty, so 
soberly that the boys shouted, and Thorny, with diffi¬ 
culty, composed himself sufficiently to explain. 

“ No, child, not just yet; but sister is, and I must 


A BOV'6' BARGAIN. 


277 


go and see that is all done up ship-shape, and bring 
you home some wedding-cake. Ben will take care of 
you while I’m gone.” 

“ When shall you go?” asked Bab, beginning to long 
for her share of cake. 

“ To-morrow, I guess. Celia has been packed and 
read}' for a week. We agreed to meet George in New 
York, and be mamed as soon as he got his best clothes 
unpacked. We are men of our word, and off we go. 
Won it be fun?” 

“ But when will you come back again?” questioned 
Betty, looking anxious. 

“Don’t know. Sister wants to come soon, but I’d 
rather have our honeymoon somewhere else,—Niagara, 
Newfoundland, West Point, or the Rocky Mountains,” 
said Thorny, mentioning a few of the places he most 
desired to see. 

“ Do you like him?” asked Ben, ver}^ naturally won 
dering if the new master would approve of the young 
man-of-all-work. 

“Don’t I? George is regularly joll}’’; though now 
he’s a minister, perhaps he ’ll stiffen up and turn sober. 
Won’t it be a shame if he does?” and Thorny looked 
alarmed at the thought of losing his congenial friend. 

“Tell about him; Miss Celia said you might,” put 
m Bab, whose experience of “jolly” ministers had 
been small. 

“ Oh, there isn’t much about it. We met in Switzer¬ 
land going up Mount St. Bernard in a storm, and — ” 

“ Where the good dogs live?” inquired Betty, hoping 
tliey would come into the story. 

“Yes; we spent the night up there, and George 




278 


CINDER THE LILACS. 


gave us his room; the house was so full, and ho 
wouldn’t let me go down a steep place where I wanted 
to, and Celia thought he’d saved my life, and was very 
good to him. Then we kept meeting, and the first thing 
I knew she went and was engaged to him. I didn’t 
care, only she would come home so he might go on 
studpng hard and get through quick. That was a j^ear 
ago, and last winter we were in New York at uncle’s; 
and then, in the spring, I was sick, and we came here, 
and that’s all.” 

“ Shall you live here alwa 3 "s when 3 ’ou come back?” 
asked Bab, as Thorn}’ paused for breath. 

“ Celia wants to. I shall go to college, so / don’t 
mind. George is going to help the old minister here 
and see how he likes it. I’m to study with him, and 
if he is as pleasant as he used to be we shall have cap¬ 
ital times, — see if we don’t.” 

“ I wonder if he will want me round,” said Ben, feel* 
ing no desire to be a tramp again. 

“/do, so you needn’t fret about that, my hearty,” 
answered Thorny, with a resounding slap on the shoulder 
which re-assured Ben more than any promises. 

“I’d like to see a live wedding, then we could play 
it with our dolls. I’ve got a nice piece of moscjuito 
netting for a veil, and Belinda’s white dress is clean. 
Do you s’pose Miss Celia will ask us to hers?” said 
Betty to Bab, as the boys began to discuss St. Bernard 
logs with spirit. 

“I wish I could, dears,” answ’cred a voice behind 
them; and there was Miss Celia, looking so happy that 
the little girls wondered what the letter could have said 
to give her such bright eyes and smiling lips “I shall 


A BOrS BARGAJJ^. 


1^79 


not be gone long, or be a bit changed when I come 
back, to live among 3'ou j’cars I hope, for I am fond 
of the old place now, and mean it shall be home,” she 
added, caressing the yellow heads as if they were dear 
to her. 

“Oh, goody! * cried Bab, while Betty whispered 
with both arms round Miss Celia, — 

“I don’t think we could bear to have anybody else 
come here to live.” 

“ It is very pleasant to hear you say that, and I mean 
to make others feel so, if I can. I have been trying a 
ittle this summer, but when I come back I shall go to 
work in earnest to be a good minister’s wife, and 3"ou 
must help me.” 

“We will,” promised both children, ready for any 
thing except preaching in the high pulpit. 

Then Miss Celia turned to Ben, saying, in the re¬ 
spectful wa}^ that alwa}"s made him feel, at least twenty- 
five, — 

“We shall be oflf to-mon’ow, and I leave you in 
charge. Go on just as if we were here, and be sm'e 
nothing will be changed as far as 3"ou are concernea 
when we come back.” 

Ben’s face beamed at that; but the only way he * 
could express his relief was by making such a blaze 
in honor of the occasion that he nearly roasted the 
company. 

Next morning, the brother and sister slipped quietly 
away, and the children hunied to school, eager to tel] 
the great new'S that “ Miss Celia and Thorny had gone 
to be married, and were coming back to live here for 
ever and ever.” 



CHAPTER XXm. 


SOMEBODY COMES. 

B ab and Betty had been plajing in the avenue all 
the afternoon several weeks later, but as the 
sliadows began to lengthen both agreed to sit upon the 
gate and rest while waiting for Ben, who had gone nut¬ 
ting with a part}^ of boj'S. "WTien they played house Bab 
was alwa 3 ^s the father, and went hunting or fishing with 
great energ}^ and success, bringing home all sorts of 
game, from elephants and crocodiles to humming-birds 
and minnows. Betty was the mother, and a most notable 
little housewife, alwaj'S mixing up imaginary delicacies 
with sand and dh*t in old pans and broken china, w^hich 
she baked in an oven of her own construction. 

Both had worked hard that da}", and were glad to 
retire to their favorite lounging-place, where Bab was 
happy tiying to walk across the wide top bar without 
falling off, and Betty enjo^-ed slow, luxurious swings 
while her sister was recovering from her tumbles. On 
! this occasion, ha^^ng indulged their res})ective tastes, 
they paused for a brief interv^al of conversation, sitting 
side by side on the gate like a pair of plump gray 
chickens gone to roost. 

“Don’t you hope Ben will get his bag full? We 
shall have such fun eating nuts evenings,” observed 


HOMEBODY COMES. 


281 

Bab, wrapping her arms in her apron, for it was Octob^:r 
now, and the air was growing keen. 

“ Yes, and Ma sajs we may boil some in our little 
kettles. Ben promised we should have half,” answers d 
Betty, still intent on her cookery. 

“I shall save some of mine for Thorny.” 

“ I shall keep lots of mine for Miss Celia.” 

DoesnT it seem more than two weeks since she 
went away?” 

“ I wonder what she ’ll bring us.” 

Before Bab could conjecture, the sound of a step and 
a familiar whistle made both look expectantly toward 
the turn in the road, all ready to cry out in one voice 
“ How many have you got?” Neither spoke a won! 
however, for the figure which presently appeared wi 
not Ben, but a stranger, — a man who stopped whistlin;.; 
and came slowly on dusting his shoes in the way-side 
grass, and brushing the sleeves of his shabby velveteen 
coat as if anxious to freshen himself up a bit. 

“It’s a tramp, let’s run away,” whispered Bett", 
after a hasty look: 

“I ain’t afraid,” and Bab was about to assume her 
boldest look when a sneeze spoilt it, and made her 
clutch the gate to hold on. 

At that unexpected sound the man looked up, sho^v - 
ing a thin, dark face, with a pair of sharp, black eyes, 
which surveyed the little girls so steadily that Betty 
quaked, and Bab began to wish she had at least jumpc^l 
down inside the gate. 

“ How are you? ” said the man with a good-natured 
nod and smile, as if to re-assure the round-eyed ciuldrei: 
staring at him. 


2S2 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


“ Pretty well, thank you, sir,” responded Bab, 
politely nodding back at him. 

“Folks at home? ” asked the man, looking over tlieir 
heads toward the house. 

“ Only Ma; all the rest have gone to be married.” 

“ That sounds lively. At the other place all the 
folks had gone to a funeral,” and the man laughed as 
he glanced at the big house on the hill. 

“Why, do 3 ^ou know the Squii’e?” exclaimed Bab, 
much surprised and re-assured. 

“ Come on pui-pose to see him. Just strolling round 
till he gets back,” with an impatient sort of sigh. 

“ Betty thought you was a tramp, but I wasn’t 
afraid. I like tramps ever since Ben came,” explained 
Bab, with her usual candor. 

“ Who’s Ben ! ” and the man came nearer so quickly 
that Betty nearly fell backward. “ Don’t you be scared, 
Sissy. I like little girls, so you set easy and tell me 
about Ben,” he added, in a persuasive tone, as he 
leaned on the gate so near that both could see what a 
friendly face he had in spite of its eager, anxious look. 

“Ben is Miss Celia’s boy. We found him most 
starved in the coach-house, and he’s been here ever 
since,” answered Bab, comprehensively. 

“ Tell me all about it. I like tramps, too,” and the 
man looked as if he did very much, as Bab told the 
little story in a few childish words that were better than 
a much more elegant account. 

“ You were very good to the little feller,” was all the 
man said when she ended her somewhat confused talc, 
in which she had jumbled the old coach and IMiss Celia, 
dhfner-pailfi and nutting, Sancho and circuses 


SOMEBODY COMES. 


283 


“ ’Course we were I He’s a nice boy and we are fond 
of him, and he likes us,” said Bab, heartily. 

“ ’Specially me,” put in Betty, quite at ease now, for 
the black ejxs had softened wonderfully, and the brown 
face was smiling all over. 

“ Don’t wonder a mite. You are the nicest pair of 
little girls I ’ve seen this long time,” and the man put a 
hand on either side of them, as if he wanted to hug the 
chubby children. But he didn’t do it; he merely 
smiled and stood there asking questions till the two 
chatterboxes had told him every thing there was to 
tell in the most confiding manner, for he very soon 
ceased to seem like a stranger, and looked so familiar 
that Bab, growing inquisitive in her turn, suddenly 
said, — 

“ Haven’t you ever been here before? It seems as if 
I’d seen you.” 

“Never in my life. Guess you’ve seen somebody 
that looks like me,” and the black eyes twinkled for a 
minute as they looked into the puzzled little faces be 
fore him. Then he said, soberly, — 

“I’m looking round for a likely boy; don’t you think 
this Ben would suit me? I want just such a lively sort 
of chap.” 

“ Are you a circus man? ” asked Bab, quickly. 

“ AV'ell, no, not now. I’m in better business.” 

“I’m glad of it — we don’t approve of ’em; but 1 
do think they ’re splendid ! ” 

Bab began by gi'avely quoting Miss Celia, and ended 
with an hrepressible burst of admiration which con¬ 
trasted drolly with her iBrst remark. 

Betty added, anxiously: “We cant let Ben go any 





284 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


VfSij. I know he wouldn’t want to, and Miss Celia 
would feel bad. Please don’t ask him.” 

“ He can do as he likes, I suppose. He hasn't got 
any folks of his own, has he ? ” 

“ No, his father died in California, and Ben felt so 
bad he cried, and we were real sorry, and gave him a 
piece of Ma, ’cause he was so lonesome,” answered 
Betty, in her tender little voice, with a pleading look 
which made the man stroke her smooth cheek and say, 
quite softly, — 

“ Bless your heart for that! I won’t take him away, 
child, or do a thing to trouble anybody that’s been good 
to him.” 

“ He’s coming now. I hear Sanch barking at the 
squirrels! ” cried Bab, standing up to get a good look 
down the road. 

The man turned quickly, and Betty saw that he 
breathed fast as he watched the spot where the low 
sunshine lay warmly on the red maple at the corner. 
Into this glow came unconscious Ben, whistling “ Rory 
O’Moore,” loud and clear, as he trudged along with a 
heavy bag of nuts over his shoulder and the light full on 
his contented face. Sancho trotted before and saw the 
stranger first, for the sun in Ben’s eyes dazzled him. 
Since his sad loss Sancho cherished a strong dislike to 
tramps, and now he paused to growl and show his 
teeth, evidently intending to warn this one off the 
premises. 

“ He won’t huii. you — ” began Bab, encouragingly; 
but before she could add a chiding word to the dog, 
Sanch gave an excited howl, and flew at the man’s 
throat as if about to throttle him. 


SOMEBODY COMES. 


285 


Betty screamed, and Bab was about to go to the 
rescue when both perceived that the dog was licking the 
stranger’s face in an ecstasy of joy, and heard the man 
say as he hugged the curly beast, — 

“ Good old Sanch 1 I knew he wouldn’t forget master, 
and he doesn’t.” 

“ What’s the matter? ” called Ben, coming up briskly, 
with a strong grip of his stout stick. 

There was no need of any answer, for, as he came 
into the shadow, he saw the man, and stood looking at 
him as if he were a ghost. 

“It’s father, Benny; don’t you know me?” asked 
the man, with an odd sort of choke in his voice, as he 
thrust the dog away, and held out both hands to the 
boy. 

Down dropped the nuts, and ciydng, “ Oh, Daddy, 
Daddy! ” Ben cast himself into the arms of the shabby 
velveteen coat, while poor Sanch tore loiind them in 
distracted circles, barking wildly, as if that was the 
only way in which he could vent his rapture. 

What happened next Bab and Betty never stopped to 
Bee, but, dropping from their roost, they went flying 
home like startled Chicken Littles with the astounding 
news that “Ben’s father has come alive, and Sancho 
knew him right away ! ” 

Mrs Moss had just got her cleaning done up, and wag 
resting a minute before setting the table, but she flew 
out of her old rocking-chair when the excited children 
told the wonderful tale, exclaiming as they ended, — 

“Where is he? Go bring him here. I declare it 
fairly takes my breath away! ” 

Before Bab could obey, or her mother compose her 


286 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


self, Sanclio bounced in and spun round like an insane 
top, tr}'iDg to stand on his head, wallc upright, waltz 
and bark all at once, for the good old fellow had so lost 
his head that he forgot the loss of his tail. 

“They are coining! they are coming! See, Ma, 
what a nice man he is,” said Bab, hopping about on one 
foot as she watched the slowly approaching pair. 

“ My patience, don’t they look alike ! I should know 
he was Ben’s Pa anjwvhere! ” said Mrs. Moss, running 
to the door in a huriy. 

They certainly did resemble one another, and it was 
ahnost comical to see the same curve in the legs, the 
same wide-awake st3de of wearing the hat, the same 
sparkle of the e^^e, good-natured smile and agile motion 
of every limb. Old Ben carried the bag in one hand 
while 3"Oung Ben held the other fast, looking a little 
shame-faced at his own emotion now, for there were 
marks of tears on his cheeks, but too glad to repress 
the delight he felt that he had really' found Daddy this 
side heaven. 

Mrs. Moss unconsciously made a pretty little picture 
of herself as she stood at the door with her honest face 
shining and both hands out, saving in a hearty tone, 
which was a welcome in itself, — 

“I’m real glad to see you safe and well, Mr. Brown I 
Come right in and make j^ourself to home. I guess 
there Isn’t a happier boy living than Ben is to-night.” 

“ And I know there isn’t a gratefuler man living than 
I an! for your kindness to my poor forsaken little feller,” 
answered Mr. Brown, dropping both his burdens to give 
the comely woman’s hands a hai’d shake. 

“ Now don’t say a word about it, but sit down and 


SOMEBODY COMES, 


287 


rest, anel we ’ll have tea in less ’n no time. Ben must 
be tired and hungry, though he's so happy I don’t be¬ 
lieve he knows it,” laughed Mrs. Moss, bustling away 
to hide the tears in her eyes, anxious to make things 
sociable and eas}- all round. 

With this end in view she set forth her best china, 
and covered the table with food enough for a dozen, 
thanking her stars that it was baking day, and every 
thing had turned out w^ell. Ben and iiis father sat talk¬ 
ing by the w’indow till they were bidden to “ draw up 
and help themselves” with such hospitable w'armth 
that every thing had an extra relish to the hungry 
pair. 

Ben paused occasionally to stroke the rusty coat- 
sleeve with bread-and-buttery fingers to convince him¬ 
self that “Daddy” had really come, and his father 
disposed of various inconvenient emotions by eating as 
if food was unknown in California. Mrs. Moss beamed 
on every one from behind the big tea-pot like a mild 
full moon, while Bab and Betty kept interrupting one 
another in their eagerness to tell something new about 
Ben and how Sanch lost his tail. 

“ Now you let Mr. Brown talk a little ; we all want 
to hear how he ‘ came alive,’ as you call it,” said Mrs, 
Moss, as they di’ew round the fire in the “ settin’-room, 
leaving the tea-things to take care of themselves. 

It was not a long story, but a very interesting one to 
this circle of listeners; all about the wild life on the 
plains trading for mustangs, the terrible kick from a 
vicious horse that nearly killed Ben, sen., the long months 
of unconsciousness in the California hospital, the slow 
re(?overy, the journey back, Mr. Smithers’ tale of the 


288 


UNDER THE LILACS, 


boy’s disappearance, and then the anxious trip to find 
out from Squire Allen where he now was. 

“ 1 asked the hospital folks to write and tell you as 
soon as I knew whether I was on my head or my heels, 
and they promised; but they didn’t; so I came off the 
minute I could, and worked my way back, expecting to 
find you at the old place. I was afraid you’d have 
worn out your welcome here and gone oflT again, for you 
are as fond of travelling as your father.” 

“ I wanted to sometimes, but the folks here were so 
dreadful good to me I couldn't” confessed Ben, secretly 
surprised to find that the prospect of going oflT with 
Daddy even cost him a pang of regi-et, for the boy had 
taken root in the friendly soil, and was no longer a 
wandering thistle-down, tossed about by eveiy wind 
that blew. 

“ I know what I owe ’em, and you and I will work 
out that debt before we die, or our name isn’t B. B.,” 
said Mr. Brown, with an emphatic slap on his knee, 
which Ben imitated half unconsciously as he exclaimed 
heartily, — 

“ That’s so ! ” adding, more quietly, “ What are you 
going to do now? Go back to Smithers and the old 
business ? ” 

“Not likely, after the way he treated you. Sonny. 
I *ve had it out with him, and he won’t want to see /«« 
again in a hurry,” answered IMr. Brown, with a sudden 
kindling of the eye that reminded Bab of Ben’s face 
when he shook her after losing Sancho. 

“ There’s more ch-cuses than his in the world; but 
I ’ll have to limber out ever so much before I’m good 
for much in that line,” said the boy, stretching his 


SOMEBODY COMES. 


289 


stout arms and legs with a curious mixture of satisfac¬ 
tion and regret. 

“You’ve been living in clover and got fat, you 
rascal,” and his father gave him a poke here and there, 
as Mr. Squeers did the plump Wackford, when display¬ 
ing him as a specimen of the fine diet at Do-the-boys 
Hall. “ Don’t believe I could put you up now if I 
tried, for I haven’t got my strength back yet, and we 
are both out of practice. It’s just as well, for I’ve 
about made up my mind to quit the business and settle 
down somewhere for a spell, if I can get any thing to 
do,” continued the rider, folding his arms and gazing 
thoughtfully into the fire. 

“ I shouldn’t wonder a mite if you could right here, 
for Mr. Towne has a great boarding-stable over yonder, 
and he’s always wanting men,” said Mrs. Moss, eagerly, 
for she dreaded to have Ben go, and no one could forbid 
it if his father chose to take him away. 

“ That sounds likely. Thanky, ma’am. I’ll look up 
the concern and try my chance. Would you call it too 
great a come-down to have father an ’ostler after being 
first rider in the ‘ Great Golden Menagerie, Circus, and 
Colossem,’ hey, Ben ? ” asked Mr. Brown, quoting the 
well-remembered show-bill with a laugh. 

“ No, I shouldn’t; it’s real jolly up there when the 
big bam is full and eighty horses have to be taken care 
of. I love to go and see ’em. Mr. Towne asked me 
to come and be stable-boy when I rode the kicking gray 
the rest were afraid of. I hankered to go, but Miss 
Celia had just got my new books, and I knew she’d 
feel bad if I gave up going to school. Now I’m glad J 
didn’t, for I get on first rate and like it.’' 


200 


UADER THE LILACS. 


“You done right, boy, and I’m pleased with you. 
Don’t you ever be ungrateful to them that belriended 
you, if you want to prosper. I’ll tackle the stable 
business a Monday and see what’s to be done. Now 
I ought to be walking, but I ’ll be round in the morn 
ing, ma’am, if you can spare Ben for a spell to-morrow. 
We’d like to have a good Sunday tramp and talk; 
wouldn’t we. Sonny ? ” and Mr. Brown rose to go with 
his hand on Ben’s shoulder, as if loth to leave him even 
for the night. 

Mrs. Moss saw the longing in his face, and forgetting 
that he was an utter stranger, spoke right out of her 
hospitable heart. 

“It’s a long piece to the tavern, and my little back 
bed-room is always ready. It won’t make a mite of 
trouble if you don’t mind a plain place, and you are 
heartily welcome.” 

Mr. Brown looked pleased, but hesitated to accept 
any further favor from the good soul who had afready 
done so much for him and his. Ben gave him no time 
to speak, however, for running to a door he flung it 
open and beckoned, saying, eagerly,— 

“ Do stay, father; it will be so nice to have you. 
This is a tip-top room; I slept here the night I came, 
and that bed was just splendid after bare ground for a 
fortnight.” 

“ I ’ll stop, and as I’m pretty well done up, I guess 
we may as well turn in now,” answered the new guest 
then, as if the memory of that homeless little lad so 
kindly cherished made his heart overflow in spite of him, 
Mr. Brown paused at the door to say hastily, with a 
hand on Bab and Betty’s heads, as if his promise was 
a very earnest one, — 


SOMEBODY COMES. 


291 


“ I don’t forget, ma’am, these chlldi'en shall never 
want a friend while Ben Brown’s alive ; ” then he shut 
the door so quiekly that the other Ben’s prompt “ Hear, 
hear! ” was cut short in the middle. 

“ I s’pose he means that we shall have a piece of 
Ben’s father, because we gave Ben a piece of oui 
mother,” said Betty, softly. 

“Of course he does, and it’s all fair,” answered 
Bab, decidedly. “ Isn’t he a nice man, Ma?” 

“Go to bed, children,” was all the answer she got; 
but when they were gone, ISIrs. Moss, as she washed 
up her dishes, more than once glanced at a certain nail 
where a man’s hat had not hung for five years, and 
thought with a sigh what a natural, protecting air that 
slouched felt had. 

If one wedding were not quite enough for a child’s 
story, we might here hint what no one dreamed of then, 
that before the year came round again Ben had found a 
mother, Bab and Betty a father, and Mr. Brown’s hat 
was quite at home behind the kitchen door. But, on 
the whole, it is best not to say a word about it. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


THE GREAT GATE IS OPENED. 

HE Browns were up and out so early next mom- 



A ing that Bab and Betty were sure they had 
run away in the night. But on looking for them, they 
were discovered in the coach-house criticising Lita, both 
with their hands in their pockets, both chewing straws, 
and looking as much alike as a big elephant and a 
small one. 

“That’s as pretty a little span as I’ve seen for a 
long time,” said the elder Ben, as the children came 
ti’otting down the path hand in hand, with the four 
blue bows at the ends of their braids bobbing biisaiy 
up and down. 

“The nigh one is my favorite, but the off one is 
the best goer, though she’s dreadfully hard bitted,” 
answered Ben the younger, with such a comical as- 
siunption of a jockey’s important air that his father 
laughed as he said in an undeilone, — 

“ Come, boy, we must drop the old slang since we’ve 
given up the old business. These good folks are making 
a gentleman of you, and I won’t be the one to spoil 
their work. Hold on, my dears, and I ’ll show you how 
they say good-morning in California,” he added, beck¬ 
oning to the little girls, who now came up rosy and 
smiling 


THE GREAT GATE IS OPENED. 293 


“Breakfast is ready, sir,” said Betty, looking much 
relieved to find them. 

“We thought you’d run away from us,” explained 
Bab, as both put out their hands to shake those ex¬ 
tended to them. 

“That would be a mean trick. But I’m going to 
run away with you,” and Mr. Brown whisked a little 
girl to either shoulder before they knew what had hap¬ 
pened, while Ben, remembering the day, with difficulty 
restrained himself from turning a series of triumphant 
somersaults before them all the way to the door, where 
Mrs. Moss stood waiting for them. 

After breakfast Ben disappeared for a short time, 
and returned in his Sunday suit, looking so neat and 
fresh that his father surveyed him with surprise and 
pride as he came in full of boyish satisfaction in his 
trim aiTay. 

“ Here’s a smart young chap I Did you take all that 
trouble just to go to walk with old Daddy ? ” asked IMr. 
Brown, stroking the smooth head, for they were alone 
just then, Mrs. Moss and the children being upstairs 
preparing for church. 

“ I thought may be you’d like to go to meeting first,” 
answered Ben, looking up at him with such a happy face 
tliat it was hard to refuse any thing. 

“I’m too shabby. Sonny, else I’d go in a minute to 
please you. 

“ Miss Celia said God didn’t mind poor clothes, and 
she took me when I looked worse than you do. I al¬ 
ways go in the morning; she likes to have me,” said 
Ben, turning his hat about as if not quite sure what he 
ought to do. 


294 


UNDER THE LILACS. 


“ Do you want to go?” asked his father in a tone of 
surprise. 

“1 want to please her, if you don’t mind. We 
cx)uld have our tramp this afternoon.” 

“ I haven’t been to meeting since mother died, and 
it don’t seem to come easy, though I know I ought to, 
seeing I’m alive and here,” and Mr. Brown looked 
soberly out at the lovely autumn world as if glad to be 
m it after his late danger and pain. 

“ Miss Celia said church was a good place to take 
oar troubles, and to be thankful in. I went when I 
thought you were dead, and now I’d love to go when 
I’ve got my Daddy safe again.” 

No one saw him, so Ben could not resist giving his 
father a sudden hug, which was warmly returned as the 
man said earnestly, — 

“I’U go, and thank the Lord hearty for giving me 
back my boy better ’n I left him! ” 

For a minute nothing was heard but the loud tick 
of the old clock and a mournful whine from Sancho, 
shut up in the shed lest he should go to church without 
an invitation. 

Then, as steps were heard on the stairs, Mr. Brown 
caught up his hat, saving hastily, — 

“ I ain’t fit to go with them, you teU ’em, and I’ll 
slip into a back seat after folks are in. I know the 
way.” And, before Ben could reply, he was gone. 

Nothing was seen of him along the way, but he saw 
the little party, and rejoiced again over his boy, changed 
in so many ways for the better; for Ben was the one 
thing which had kept his heart soft through aU the trials 
and temptations of a rough life. 


THE GREAT GATE IS OPENED. 


303 


^relcome and paid her respects to the gentleman who 
shook hands in a way that convinced her he was indeed 
what Thorny called him, “regularly jolly,” though he 
was a minister. 

That being exactly what she came for, the good 
woman told her tidings as rapidly as possible, and the 
aew-comers were so glad to hear of Ben’s happiness 
they made very light of Bab’s bonfire, though it had 
nearly burnt their house down. 

“We won’t say a word about it, for every one must 
be happy to-day,” said Mr. George, so kindly that Mrs. 
l^Ioss felt a load taken oflf her heart at once. 

“ Bab was alwaj’s teasing me for fire-works, but I 
guess she has had enough for the present,” laughed 
Thorny, who was gallantly escorting Bab’s mother up 
the avenue. 

“ Every one is so kind ! Teacher was out with the 
children to cheer us as we passed, and here you all are 
making things pretty for me,” said Mrs. Celia, smiling 
with tears in her eyes, as they drew near the great 
gate, which certainly did present an animated if not an 
Imposing appearance. 

Randa and Katy stood on one side, all in their best, 
bobbing delighted courtesies; Mr. Brown, half hidden 
behind the gate on the other side, was keeping Sancho 
erect, so that he might present arms promptly when the 
bride appeared. As flowers were scarce, on either post 
stood a rosy little girl clapping her hands, while out 
from the thicket of red and yellow boughs, which made a 
gi-and bouquet in the lantern frame, came Ben’s head 
and shoulders, as he waved his grandest flag with its 
gold paper “ Welcome Home! ” on a blue ground 





304 


UNDER THD LILACS, 


“ Isn’t it beautiful I ” cned Mrs. Celia, throwing bassee 
to the children, shaking hands with her maids, and 
glancing brightly at the stranger who was keeping 
Sanch quiet. 

“ Most people adorn their gate-posts with stone balls, 
vases, or griffins; your li\dng images are a gi'eat in- 
provement, love, especially the happy boy in the 
middle,” said Mr. George, eying Ben with interest, as 
he nearly tumbled overboard, top-heavy with his 
banner. 

You must finish what I have only begun,” answered 
Celia, adding gayly as Sancho broke loose and came 
to ofl’er both his paw and his congi’atulations, “ Sanch, 
introduce j’our master, that I may thank him for com¬ 
ing back in time to save my old house.” 

‘‘ If I’d saved a dozen it wouldn’t have half paid for 
all you’ve done for my boy, ma’am,” answered Mr. 
Brown, bursting out from behind the gate quite red with 
gratitude and pleasui’e. 

“ I loved to do it, so please remember that this 
is still his home till you make one for him. Thank 
God, he is no longer fatherless! ” and her sweet face 
said even more than her words as the white hand cor¬ 
dially shook the brown one with a buim across the 
back. 

“ Come on, sister. I see the tea-table all ready, and 
I’m awfully hungry,” interrupted Thorny, who had not 
a ray of sentiment about him, though very glad Ben had 
got his father back again. 

“Come over, by and by, little friends, and let me 
thank you for your pretty welcome, — it certainly is a 
warm one; ” and Mrs. Celia glanced merrily from the 


THE GREAT GATE IS OPENED, 305 


three bright faces above her to the old chimney, which 
still smoked sullenly. 

Oh, don’t! ” cried Bab, hiding her face. 

“ She didn’t mean to,” added Betty, pleadingly. 

Three cheers for the bride ! ” roared Ben, dipping 
his flag, as leaning on her husband’s arm his dear mis¬ 
tress passed under the gay arch, along the leaf-strewn 
walk, over the threshold of the house which was to be 
her hap])y home for man}’ years. 

The closed gate where the lonely little wanderer once 
lay was alw’ays to stand open now, and the path w’here 
children played before wms free to all comers, for a hos¬ 
pitable welcome henceforth awaited rich and poor, 
young and old, sad and gay. Under the Lilacs. 


University Press: John Wilson & Son, Cambridge. 









O Jwl X 


BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT 



VoL. I. A CHRISTMAS DREAM; The Candy Country; Naughty 
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f To them for good, may make them choose to be 
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